


Ferre Notam

by omega12596



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, Graphic Sex, Graphic Violence, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-06
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-14 04:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 88,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/832697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omega12596/pseuds/omega12596
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fill for this very old prompt on the meme: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/5691.html?thread=20775483#t20775483</p><p>Hawke trades herself to Danarius and becomes lyrium branded. Full prompt inside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: How It All Began

**Author's Note:**

> Original Prompt:  
>  _-Danarius comes to Kirkwall (could be for 'Alone' quest or other reason) and ends up abducting Hawke (to punish Fenris for his escape or because he just takes a real liking to Hawke or whatever)_  
>  _-Gives her full-body lyrium tattoos. Expects her to lose her memory but she doesn't and escapes_  
>  _-Goes straight back to Kirkwall (if they even get out of Kirkwall). She's only just been tattooed, so is still in shock and lots of pain (her lady parts weren't even spared)_  
>  _-Fenris is the only one who can help her deal with all the tattoo complications/trauma - (would really like if Fenris and Hawke weren't in a relationship yet but it's ok if A!a takes it the other way. Can be dark/angsty/fluffy/smutty as A!a wants)_
> 
> A fill was started on this prompt, but it hasn’t been updated in almost three years, at least as best as I can find. But it’s such an interesting idea, Hawke tattooed with lyrium, Fenris the only other person with even the slightest idea what that’s like. Except, of course, in the years since Danarius’ ‘pet’ escaped, he’s tweaked the spell and the ritual, and Hawke is a mage to begin with… 
> 
> Anyway, I took a bit of liberty with the OP's time line - it's almost a year after the events in Tevinter when Hawke returns to Kirkwall. However, she has no control over the brands and suffers excruciating pain daily, as well as being unable to be physically touched by living flesh. Also, Danarius doesn't kidnap Hawke, she willingly goes with him. She and Fenris are not in a relationship to begin with, though as the story progresses, that will change.

Chapter One

Fenris didn’t like her, he didn’t trust her, and if he knew Micah Hawke had demanded both Varric and Aveline keep her apprised of the elf’s coming, goings, and dealings, the ex-(of a sort)slave would have used his unnatural talents to separate her heart from her chest. 

As Hawke was fairly partial to her heart beating where it should, she was rather glad Fenris hadn’t a clue how often she stepped in to protect him from unwanted attention, attack, and all around general mayhem. Well, the kind one might find on their own in Kirkwall at any rate. Even Micah wouldn’t argue she’d gotten her band of companions into more than just basic chaos fairly often, but with her in the thick of it, fighting right beside them.

Still, the look on Aveline’s face, as she gave Hawke the information she’d procured for the elf, had Micah squirming in her chair. She brushed the deep red of her bangs from her forehead and hoped she could keep the fear out of her much-too-expressive, bright blue eyes.

“I know you don’t like it, Aveline. But after everything, I can’t take the chance Danarius might have some trick up his sleeve. No matter how utterly awesome we are if there’s some sneaky, blood-magic spell he’s got woven into those tattoos… I’m secure in the knowledge that the only one of us who’d have no compunction killing Fenris is Anders.”

“Hawke, I know you watch out for all of us, but by the Maker, this is insane. What makes you think you can even pull this off?”

“Two things: I’m already a mage and I don’t think Danarius is stupid. Power hungry and insane, sure. But not stupid. He’s got to know how easily we dispatched his apprentice and all the men she brought with her. And by now, he also knows I slew the Arishok in single combat. With that knowledge, he’ll understand me when I tell him he cannot have Fenris back, ever.”

“Then why bother with this at all? Kill the man and be done with it.”

“Because if it comes to that, he has power I don’t. He could drain my life before I even knew what was going on with blood magic. And if Fenris is there, I – there’s no way I could kill him Aveline, and that would likely be my only option. Sure, Danarius would die, he will die, but I won’t guarantee it with Fenris’ life.”

“Andraste’s ass, you _love him_.” Aveline’s complexion, already pale, grew whiter as the truth dawned.

Micah smiled, with little humor. “It only took you six years to figure it out. Don’t feel bad, Varric only just realized it himself.”

“Micah, oh, I don’t even know what to say.”

“Tell me you’ll take care of my, our, city until I return. Promise if I don’t make it back, you’ll never tell Fenris what I’ve done. Know that either way, Danarius will be dead, even if I am as well and the elf will never have to worry about his ex-master again.”

“You don’t ask for much, do you?”

“Aveline, you’re family. You’re my best friend. Swear it.”

The guard-captain shifted uncomfortably in her armor, a telling sheen in her eyes. “You have my word, Hawke.”

“Good. I’m going to meet Danarius in the morning. You’ll know my plan worked if, when you take Fenris to the Hanged Man in the afternoon, his sister waits for him and no one else.”

“And if she has company?”

“Slaughter them all and pray that doesn’t mean Fenris too. Take Merrill when you go, she’ll be better suited to fight a blood mage than Anders.”

“Micah-“

Hawke held up her hand. “Don’t. I don’t do goodbyes any more, Aveline.”

“Right. Well, good luck then and I’ll see you… soon.”

“Agreed.”

The two women’s footsteps were heavy as they walked from Hawke’s library to the front door. The hug they fell into was desperate, tight, and full of all the words neither could bear to speak. Finally, Micah pulled back and gave Aveline a bright smile. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”

The guard-captain nodded and left without another word.

 

Chapter Two

Danarius looked nothing like Hawke expected. In fact, he looked nothing like she expected a magister to appear. His face was wizened, the skin grey and unhealthy looking, and though his frame was tall and broad, Micah felt sure it wasn’t so much muscles, but fat from a life of sloth, that gave him any weight at all.

“Ah, the Champion of Kirkwall. To what do I owe this honor?”

Micah took a breath and stepped closer to the small elven woman seated at a table near the base of the stairs to the second floor of the Hanged Man. “Varania, I presume?”

The elf made no move to reply, so Micah looked to Danarius for confirmation.

“Indeed. Don’t be cross with her, Champion. She’s only done what a good citizen of the Imperium should. Now, where is my little wolf?”

“I’m sorry, but Fenris won’t be joining us. In fact, I’ve come to strike a bargain, if you’re interested.”

The slimy bastard shifted his staff from one hand to the other and raked his revolting gaze over Hawke from top to bottom. “A compelling suggestion, but really, Champion, I can have any woman I like. You mustn’t debase yourself so, for a slave. A mage of your caliber. It’s disgraceful.”

“I’m not offering to be your whore, Magister. I’m offering myself in place of Fenris. Let me be clear, you will not have him. Now, I expect you’re a bright man, you must have heard at least some of my exploits. I assure you, while they may be embellished a bit in the re-telling, the tales are close enough to the truth no light slips between the cracks.”

Danarius stopped eye-balling her, his gaze snapping to meet hers. “Continue.”

“We both know I won’t let Fenris go back with you. If you push it, you’ll die. Fenris too, likely. And then where will you be?”

“You can’t protect him forever, Champion.” The older man hissed the words, grey eyes narrowed with contempt.

Micah laughed darkly. “You know better than that. I can and will. You haven’t been able to get to him until now because you no longer have the ability to track him. Clever piece of magic, that, but so simple to undo, once I knew how you had done it in the first place.”

“So that was you?”

“That and more. What I’m offering is simple: I will go with you, take Fenris’ place as your slave. In return, you will write, _in blood_ , the absolute release of Fenris from your ownership. You will leave the letter with Varania here, who will be immediately unthralled, and we will go to Tevinter. Now, this very morning.”

“And if I refuse?”

Micah lifted a single, blood-red brow. “You will die by nightfall. Everything you’ve built in the Imperium will have been for naught.”

She watched him consider her offer, holding herself still and straight as the seconds ticked by like minutes, the minutes as hours. 

“Smart girl, requiring me to release him with a blood writ. I’ll have no power over him.”

“I may have been born in Ferelden, and schooled outside of the Circle, but do not mistake those things as failures.”

For the first time since they’d met, Danarius smiled. It was a lecherous, greedy thing, and Hawke struggled to suppress her shudder of revulsion. “You’ll make a fine lyrium warrior, Champion. I accept your offer. Come now, and kneel before your Master.”

“Not until you’ve sealed the writ and removed your power from Varania. And not until we’re on your boat back to Minrathous. Though I’m certain you’d like nothing more than to humiliate me, here in Kirkwall, that would be an unwise action. I’m damn near revered in this city. The Templars alone would Silence you and make you Tranquil in less time that it took for you to blink. Best to continue the charade that we’re nothing more than acquaintances taking a stroll to the docks, don’t you think?”

She saw a spark of hatred in his eyes, but the truth of her words struck true. He snarled and snapped his fingers. An armed guard at his back produced parchment and quill. Danarius handed the man his staff and stalked to the table, jabbing the sharp metal point deep into the back of his hand and began to write.

It took several moments, after which Hawke held out her hand to read the letter. There were no tricks in the semantics, and despite it being written in the language of his homeland, Hawke had no trouble deciphering it. With a nod, she handed it back and looked pointedly at Varania.

With a wave of his hand, the elven woman began to weave unsteadily at the table, the thrall broken. Hawke leaned forward, palm to Fenris’ sister’s head and uttered a single word. “Sleep.”

The small woman slumped forward, Danarius’ writ clutched in her hand. Micah pulled back, clasping her hands in front of her and bowing her head. “Master, are we ready to depart?”

“Indeed, my pet. The faster we leave this place, the sooner I can begin your training.”

“Yes, Master.” Hawke watched the Magister’s feet move past her, stopping only long enough for her to fall into line between his private guards and the rest of the retinue. 

 

Chapter Three

The boat ride to Minrathous was worse than Micah had imagined, and her mind was nearly as creative as Varric and Isabela’s. She’d been stripped, hung from manacles naked, and beaten. Repeatedly. Then someone would heal her, and the beatings would start again. She’d lost her voice three days into the trip, screamed it raw.

When Danarius felt she’d been broken with fists enough, he had her stretched on a rack and whipped until there’d been little skin left on her body. Anywhere. Front to back, along her sides, between her legs and across her breasts. He’d only given her enough food and water to keep her from dying, and though a big part of her wished he’d just kill her already, the part Micah had secreted away, protected behind magic even the magister couldn’t hope to break, if his blood-magic tainted soul was able to detect it at all, watched, waited, and learned.

By the time the raping began, Hawke was almost grateful. Sick as that seemed, while she lay beneath one guard or another, their hot breath in her face as their cocks savaged every orifice of her body, the last violation was somehow easier to bear. She thought of Fenris almost every second, knew he’d suffered this and likely more, and was determined to withstand the power of the magister at least as well as the elf had.

She refused to break, but Micah was smart, dangerously so, and had learned early in life the ability to be whoever, or whatever, was necessary to survive. Getting Danarius to believe he’d well and truly destroyed her spirit was easier than beating Anders at Wicked Grace.

He came to her after her last round of healing, magic that sewed her rent flesh, stopped the bleeding from between her thighs, erased the scratches and bites left by his men, but maintained all the agony to echo through her body.

She scuttled on the floor, abasing herself at his feet. “Please, Master, please. I’ll be your good pet, your best pet.”

“Ah, so sweet.” He kicked her in the face, but Hawke rolled with the blow, keeping her face to the floor, whimpering at the fresh spike of pain.

“You lasted longer than I expected. We’re within sight of the city. Six long weeks, but finally, you’re malleable. Ready.” 

She heard his feet shuffle, listening as he instructed someone to have her bathed and dressed and ready on deck in half an hour. Maintaining the façade of a cowed slave was no chore, in fact it was almost relaxing to pretend she had no will of her own. Hands bathed her, dressed her, fashioned her hair, applied makeup and all Micah had to do was sit still through it. As her unnamed guide led her up a short flight of stairs and into the light, Hawke squinted and stumbled.

“Collar her and bring her to me.”

Danarius’ voice echoed in the sea air. Careful to keep her face down, Hawke tried to look out, too see the seat of the Imperium. So preoccupied was she, the feel of a heavy leather shackle tightening around her throat almost went unnoticed. It was only when a heavily guilt leash was snapped in place that she took a moment to assess the feel of the foreign object below her chin.

 _No magic, now that’s odd_ Hawke kept her curious frown internal.

“Pet, you must stand up straight and proud. Now that you are accepting of my mastery, we must greet the people of my city with all the dignity and power we have. You are the Champion of Kirkwall, after all, slayer of the Arishok. The only magister you will defer to is myself, pet. The rest are beneath you.”

Micah lifted her head. “Yes, Master.”

He gave a slight tug on the leash. “Come.”

As he paraded her through the city, Hawke ignored the looks they received, instead cataloguing their route, taking note of landmarks so she could return to the docks later. She was ever aware of the press of bodies, nauseated by sycophantic magisters of lesser status who came to pile compliment after empty compliment on Danarius.

They neared a massive structure, which Micah felt sure was a Black Chantry, when a sound from her left drew her notice. She saw the flash of a blade a mere second before she called lighting, searing the would-be attacker to burnt embers before any of Danarius’ guards even had a chance to react.

“Lovely, my pet. Absolutely delightful. I’ve never liked Magister Hayes.”

“I’m sorry, Master. I reacted without permission.”

Danarius slipped a finger beneath her collar and tugged her to face him. “Nonsense. It seems you will be just as good as my little wolf, Accipiter.”

She cocked her head, just a bit. “A hawk.”

“Exactly, after all, you came so appropriately named, I could do nothing more than give your title its proper, Imperial equivalent.”

“Yes, Master.” She smiled and Danarius was pleased.

“What is going on here?” Hawke didn’t turn to see who had spoken, keeping her gaze trained on Danarius’ chin.

“Magister Hayes tried to attack Magister Danarius. The Magister’s Accipiter killed him.” One of Danarius’ guards explained the situation.

“I see. Then by the statutes of Nomaran, what was his is now yours.”

“ _Na via lerno victoria._ So mote it be.”

 _Only the living know victory, huh. Truer words._ Micah kept her face and eyes blank, empty, but deep inside a wicked grin bloomed.

“Magister Danarius.” The sound of metal clad feet retreated and Danarius turned, leading her once more through the city.

“I shall have to reward you, Accipiter. With the power and wealth Hayes’ death has just brought me, my rise in the Senate is assured. Truly, I didn’t believe you’d prove yourself a good investment for some time. I’m pleased to find I was mistaken.”

Hawke said nothing, which seemed to ‘please’ him even more. 

 

Chapter Four

Three months and two weeks more, the agony was unending. Hawke’s body shook with the remnants of something so far beyond pain there was no word for it. For the last fortnight, she’d been dosed with elfroot and sleeping draughts while her form adjusted to the unnatural veins the magister lay upon her skin. Finally, after so many days of the torturous ritual, and the further agony of being bound to a bed while she healed, Danarius had what he wanted: a second lyrium warrior, more powerful than even the first, a treasure to be worshipped, a weapon without equal.

“You are magnificent, my Accipiter. Look at yourself, see your power.” She was held up, the press of hands on her body surprisingly gentle, so she could see the reflection of her flesh in a large, disgustingly ornate mirror.

The lyrium in her skin shone, the branding work more intricate than she remembered Fenris’ being, swirls and whorls merging, arcane symbols clear to her mage-sight, glowing with energy, fire and ice. She was dizzy, nauseous, and if she’d been more than half in her own head, she’d have been mortified. The bastard hadn’t spared even an inch of her skin, the bare flesh of her mons gleaming with lyrium veins, the cheeks of her face accented by blue-white lines as well.

Struggling with her voice, Hawke spoke. “My Master, may I see the rest?”

Danarius’ crazed grey eyes sparkled with glee. “Oh, yes, Accipiter. I promise you, I spared no expense. The work of art you are nearly emptied Hayes’ coffers, but you’re worth it, my precious. Thankfully, the man had his fingers in many, many businesses and I’ve seen every sovereign replaced and more. Truly, killing him was an amazing boon.”

Another mirror was brought and Hawke was shifted so she could see the designs covering her back, buttocks, legs. Danarius hadn’t exaggerated; she clearly saw a line of the precious ore snaking between the cheeks of her ass. Though she was repulsed by what he’d done to her, Micah vaguely appreciated the terrible beauty of it all. 

And while she’d survived the creation, crying out for it to end so many times she’d lost count, she’d also been busy, the core of her mind undoing every binding Danarius tried to lay, reversing every spell he hoped to lock into her flesh with blood magic and pain. She’d gained all the power, all the strength and abilities of a lyrium warrior, but she refused to allow the beast even the smallest suggestion of true power over her. 

Because she’d prepared, her mind was her own, her memories intact, her will unbroken. As the slaves lowered her back to the bed, she watched the Magister approach, and lean over her, bringing one of her hands to his lips.

“Accipiter, you will be the greatest prize the Imperium has ever known.”

Hawke saw her moment and seized the opening the old gods themselves had surely given her. Without thought, her brands flared, and in the space between seconds, her entire arm plunged through Danarius’ face. His brain was soft beneath her fingers, the stem slightly firmer, and without hesitation, she tore that rubbery tissue asunder.

The Magister was dead before the avaricious smile left his lips. Shaking with power and pain, Hawke rose from the bed and turned to the slave nearest her. “Fetch whomever you must. I want this dealt with now.” 

Finally able to release the magic she’d used to protect her mind, her soul, Micah Hawke stood on legs barely strong enough to hold her, and sighed with relief at being whole once more. Damn near broken, changed beyond measure, but Malcolm’s daughter still.

The elf nearest her stood frozen for a moment, shock written all over his face, before he fell back, tripping and stumbling from the room. Micah took a slow breath, trying to push back the rushing lyrium, to regain some semblance of control. It was going to take time to learn just how much Danarius’ ritual had altered her.

Sooner than she hoped, but later than she wished, the slave returned, Black Templars leading a smaller man into the room. His robes declared him a member of the Chantry, but his position was unclear until he spoke.

“Accipiter, apprentice of Magister Danarius, I am First Enchanter Arvenold.”

She fought not to react to his words. _Apprentice?_ Oh, Danarius’ ego had indeed been his downfall. Whatever had possessed the magister to name her such, she would never know, but suddenly the situation was morphing into something utterly surreal. 

“First Enchanter.” Hawke dipped her head, not enough to actually confer any kind of subservience, but enough not to offend. She kept her body still, both to project confidence and power and because even the smallest movement caused bone deep misery to crash through her system. She ignored her naked state and the lascivious stares of her guests. She couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“It seems the slave spoke true. You have slain your Master. By the statutes of Nomaran, what was his is now yours… Magister Accipiter.”

“ _Na via lerno victoria._ So mote it be.” Danarius’ long ago response came to her lips, smooth as silk.

The First Enchanter nodded, but the look in his cold, dead, black eyes spoke of wariness and, deeper still, fear. “I will have the steward of the house sent to you immediately. You are new to the Imperium, there are things you must be told. At your leisure, Magister, I believe the Archon himself would like to meet with you. Danarius’ was very powerful; his replacement will be of singular interest.”

“As you say, First Enchanter.” Again, she dipped her head, keeping her feet only until the man and his retinue left the chamber.

Micah flung her hand out, beseeching the slave nearest her. “Please, help me to the bed. Then I want you to gather all the household slaves, here, to me. There is much I must do, and little time.”

The slave looked completely poleaxed, and if Micah hadn’t been in such excruciating pain, she might have laughed. Thankfully, he didn’t question her, merely motioned for some of the other slaves to aid him, before scurrying from the room once more.

She looked at the slaves, sick at her stomach at their malnourished appearance. With as much energy as she could muster, she turned to them fully. “I am going to burn his body, but I don’t know how much control I’ll have over my magic, with all this lyrium running through me. Please, take cover and protect yourselves.”

Two of the people, both human, one male the other female, exchanged looks of utter disbelief before they did as they were bade. The others didn’t hesitate and when Hawke was sure no one was close enough to be caught in the blast radius, should her magic be unsteady, she closed her eyes and called upon fire.

Heat poured through her, rushing from her fingertips with the power of a volcanic eruption. Opening her eyes, she saw the magic wasn’t wild, out of control, but the strength of the spell was exponentially more potent and she felt no weakness of mana as she watched the remains of Danarius’ corporal form turned to ash.

When nothing but grey dust remained, Micah called the magic to her, and felt it fold back inside, without so much as a tug of resistance. For all intents and purposes, the Magister’s ritual had given her nearly limitless power. There was no struggle to keep her magic contained, no need for lyrium potions to enhance her power or revive her mana, and for the first time in her life, she didn’t feel even the distant whisper of demons, ever the bane of a mage’s existence, not the slightest tickle. 

Considering she was in the middle of the Imperium, and had felt the press of demons from the moment she’d stepped into Danarius’ presence, Hawke was utterly shocked by this turn of events. Suddenly, she wished for sleep, to enter the Fade and find out what had changed for her there, as well. Silently scolding herself, Micah reached for the thin, silken sheet at the foot of the bed, but thrust it away the moment the cool material touched her skin with a soft cry.

“Mistress?” The human slave tiptoed closer, fear and apprehension written in every line of her body.

“You have nothing to fear from me.” Hawke’s words did nothing to ease the woman’s distress, but she kept her frustrated sigh behind her closed lips.

“Wh-when Master Danarius branded the elf, many years ago, it took several weeks before hi-his Fenris could be touched or clothed.”

 _Damn it._ The very idea that she’d have to remain nude for weeks did not even remotely sit well with Micah. She lifted her forearm, peering at the brands, and it was clear why Fenris had needed to stay bare for so long. Her skin, where flesh met lyrium, was abraded and burned, which of course was expected, but also easily rectified… for a mage. An elf without magic would have surely suffered, without a healer to ease the pain and mend the body.

And healers were scarce in the Imperium, their talents never wasted on slaves.

Though the brands themselves, and they were indeed brands, had been laid deep into her tissue, Hawke realized the reason Fenris, and herself, hadn’t been poisoned by the ore was because it never penetrated further than the lowest layers of skin. Danarius knew his anatomy; she had to credit him that much at least. 

Using branding as his method guaranteed no bleeding, and the instant cauterization of the channel the lyrium filled, the scars from the burns locking the lyrium in place, as it were. She hummed to herself as she called healing magic, watching the reaction of her skin as well as they lyrium veins. The ore showed little response to the healing spell, the barest surge of light and heat – though it was enough to make her stomach turn and her heart beat faster. The sensation was not pleasant, but considering everything else, Micah found it little more than an irritation. 

Her skin, thankfully, quickly calmed, the raw, red edges of the brands becoming much less angry, smoothing out as her flesh accepted the ore as part of itself. After a few moments, the discomfort receded considerably, from her body and her tattoos, and Hawke no longer felt like she’d pass out from the stabbing pain.

And improvement, yes, but one of degrees, the throbbing in her body a constant distraction, as the lyrium thrummed with each beat of her heart. Her skin remained exceptionally sensitive and achy; something Hawke suspected would take years to fade, if ever. No, she wouldn’t have to suffer for more weeks while the skin was restored to health like Fenris had, but Micah wasn’t going to be able to avoid the lasting irritability or the prevailing discomfort being marked with lyrium inflicted on a body.

Easing the silk cloth over her lap, attempting some modesty, Micah motioned for the woman to come closer. “Once Fenris could wear clothes, what kind were they?”

The woman kept her eyes on the floor as she answered. “Master had special armor made for him, fitted to his exact measurements. Loose material chafed the Wolf, and Master only put him in coverings like that for punishment.”

Hawke nodded, more to herself than the woman practically kneeling at her feet. “I’ll need something similar made. But for now, I’d appreciate a top and breeches made of this,” she indicated the silk next to her. “I realize it’s quite sheer, but it will have to do.”

The woman bowed so deeply the fringe of her bangs brushed the floor. “Yes, Mistress.”

“What’s your name?”

“Alana, Mistress.”

Hawke was about to ask the woman for some water when the doors to the room opened and the slave she’d sent to gather the rest of his kith returned, with what looked like forty more bodies. At the first site of her nudity, or the brands, or the pile of ash at her feet, Micah knew not which, the entire group, en masse, dropped to the floor, abasing themselves. The wave of fear rolling from so many bodies stole Hawke’s breath.

“By the Maker.” She whispered the words and tried to wrap her brain around just how fucked up the whole Andraste-be-damned Imperium was. “Please, all of you, calm down and get off your knees.”

Slowly, with wariness and terror, bodies shifted and rose. Once everyone was on their feet, Micah took a deep breath and began the slow process of earning the trust of, well, of several dozen people she was now responsible for keeping safe, healthy, and provided for until such time as they died. _No pressure, that._

“There are a few things I need to say and you need to hear. First, I am no Magister like you have ever known. Second, I want to know how many of you wish to remain with me and how many wish to be away – freed or sent to another household. And yes, I said freed. I will release any of you who want to be your own masters, and will provide you with coin enough to take ship from Tevinter to elsewhere in Thedas.” Talking was difficult, by Andraste simply being awake was hard, but Micah refused to succumb just yet. 

She waited patiently for her words to sink in. Slowly, the people began to separate into two groups, and though she was disappointed by how many chose to remain in her future employ, Micah wasn’t surprised.

“You want your freedom, correct?” A little over a dozen heads bobbed their agreement. “Fine, which among you is the steward?”

A tall, obviously half-elven man moved toward her, eyes downcast, though his body language showed less fear than most of the others. “I am, Mistress.”

“You will go to the docks in the morning and procure a ship for me, as well as a captain whose loyalties do not lie with the Imperium. I’d prefer a Ferelden, but I’ll take an Antivan- Crow or not – if you can manage it. When you’ve done that, return here, with the captain, and I will see if you chose well while you draft whatever document is necessary to give these people their freedom. I will sign in blood, if I have to.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“The rest of you will begin receiving a stipend for your work. Within this house, whether in my presence or not, you will be treated as servants and not slaves. I will not,” Micah paused to emphasize the negative, “tolerate anything else. If you must show your obeisance, so be it, but I will not have any further groveling or abasing. You may bow, you may even cast your eyes to the floor, though I’d prefer it if you look me in the eye, but you will stand tall and proud, as best you can. You are a member of Magister Accipiter’s household and I promise, if you don’t know how powerful those words are now, you will very shortly. Am I clear?” 

“Yes, Mistress.” As one, their voices rose and their spines straightened.

“Steward, what’s your name?”

“I am Mikla, Mistress.”

Hawke laughed, surprising everyone. “Really?”

The steward looked quite nervous, but he met her gaze and nodded. “Yes, Mistress. I wouldn’t lie.”

She grinned. “Relax, Mikla. It’s not that I didn’t believe you. Your name is very similar to my own, that’s all.”

“Mistress?”

“I’m Micah. Micah Hawke, though I suppose in the Imperium I’ll remain Accipiter.”

The man didn’t seem to know how to respond. Hawke thought about it and wondered if he expected her to give him another name, as if she were offended one of her ‘slaves’ had such a similar moniker.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to change your name or anything like that. I’ll just call you Mikla, if that’s alright.”

Some of the tension eased in his shoulders. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Alright, Mikla, I’ve already asked Alana here to have some clothes made for me. I’m going to need you to help her see that’s done, post haste. I’m not ashamed of my nudity, but neither am I in the practice of prancing around naked for all and sundry. After you give her whatever monies or help she needs to see my request done, I believe the First Enchanter suggested there was information you would need to give me.”

“Right away, Magister Accipiter.”

Micah quirked a brow, but let it go since Mikla was now standing straight as an arrow, his green-blue gaze meeting her own. “I’d also like to meet Danarius’ guard. I’ll need to determine whose loyalties lie where. If any of you have information that would be helpful in that regard, I’ll gratefully take it. It’s going to be a busy night for me, and likely a busier day tomorrow for all of us, so please, eat if you haven’t already and get some rest. Dismissed.”


	2. Part II: A Meeting of Powers

Chapter One

“Are you sure, Alana?” Micah tried to keep from gasping as the silk slid between her thighs.

“Yes, Mistress. The ritual stops hair from growing wherever the lyrium is present. Since none of the brands cross your brows, and the hair remains, Master Danarius must have altered the spells to ensure you didn’t lose that hair.”

“I would kill him again, this instant, if I could.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Alana struggled for a moment, but when Hawke gave her a mischievous grin, the woman laughed softly.

“I suppose I’ll suffer in silence, then. At least I won’t have to remove the hair beneath my arms or on my legs ever again.” Micah turned to the mirror and surveyed the woman’s work. 

The outfit clung to every curve of her body, its sheerness leaving nothing to the imagination. The color was stunning, a blue as clear and deep as Hawke’s eyes. The breeches were as snug as the top, the cloth moving so little with the twists and turns Micah did she was relieved. Her skin was irritated, yes, it ached like the very void, but she could ignore it, for now at least. And hopefully, long enough to get through her appointment with the Archon.

The door opened and Mikla entered, giving her a small bow. “I’ve brought the letters releasing the slaves who wished it, as well as an Antivan boat captain. I’m sorry Mistress, but I couldn’t find any Fereldens.”

“What about the guards? Have you found any replacements?” Micah suppressed a shudder. She’d gotten an inkling of just how much Danarius had tweaked his lyrium ritual only a few hours ago, when she’d discovered she could phase her entire body through that of another. A talent she’d had to employ with sickening results, as the majority of the old Magister’s guards had proven to be thralled to Danarius. A company of men, slaughtered. 

It did not sit well with Micah.

“My dear Magister, I believe I can help with that.”

The elf that entered the room was nothing like what Hawke expected a ship captain to be. In fact, as beautiful as he was, and taking in the considerable charm that practically oozed from his very pores, Micah’s first thought was courtesan. On the heels of that, though, was a single word: Crow.

“Your name?”

“Zevran. Zevran Arainai.”

“Bullshit.” 

The elf laughed, completely at ease. “I swear, there is no shit, bull or otherwise, involved.”

“The Hero of Ferelden’s lover? That Zevran Arainai?”

He lifted a brow, the mirth in his eyes quickly shifting to cool calculation. “The one and the same. Though, truthfully, I didn’t expect anyone in the Imperium to recognize my name.”

“I’m not from the Imperium, assassin. I’m from Ferelden, though I’m certain you’ve already ascertained as much. In fact, I have a strong suspicion you’re presence here is no coincidence. Am I wrong?”

Zevran bowed, a few strands of his golden hair slipping over his face. “Isabela said you were smart. I think, though, even she does not realize how bright you truly are.”

“Damn it, Aveline swore not to tell.”

“Ah, I have a letter from our pirate queen, which I believe will explain much.”

Micah put her hand out. “Quickly, Zevran, I haven’t time for your _flourish_.”

The elf stepped quickly to her side and placed a heavy parchment in her palm. Hawke snapped the wax seal and opened the letter, her eyes reading the words with haste, moving through the pages rapidly, scanning the contents, before returning to the first to read in more detail.

“She says that she got suspicious when she caught Varric doing some work, but crediting me for the acts. She held Bianca hostage until he spilled, then hunted down Aveline to get the full story.” Hawke barked a laugh. “Says she got two black eyes, but they were worth it. Apparently, only the three of them know where I really am, but Aveline convinced Sebastian to tell the others I’ve been on a mission to Starkhaven for the last five months.”

“I was near Kirkwall a few weeks ago, leading some of my ex-brothers of the Crows on a merry chase when I bumped into Bela at the Hanged Man. Lovely establishment, only slightly less soiled and stained than the Gnawed Noble in Denerim. Ah, such delightful memories.”

“Get on with it, elf. Maker you do like the sound of your own voice.”

Zevran wasn’t in the least offended. Instead, he took a moment to slowly, and without shame, look at Micah’s barely clothed body. “You are magnificent.”

Hawke snorted. “So I’ve been told. Now, please, you can stare at my tits all you like, just finish your story.”

The ex-Crow laid a hand over his heart. “A goddess, surely you must be, to know me so well.”

Micah glared, though her lips quirked anyway.

“Isabela asked me to come to the Imperium and seek you out. Since she wasn’t sure what state you’d be in, I decided to swing by Amaranthine first to pick up a few of my friends. I’m certain you will find their loyalties true and in no way to the Magisters. If you’d allow me?”

Hawke nodded.

“Lieutenant Henley, do come in.”

A heavily armored man, the plate protecting his body shining brightly, slipped through the doors and Micah’s eyes widened. “Silver Order?”

Zevran nodded. “Indeed. Vigil’s Keep’s own knights. I’ve brought an entire contingent of them, with the Warden Commander’s blessing.”

“Holy shit.” She didn’t know what to say.

“Solona told me to remind you family sticks together.”

Micah felt a blush stain her cheeks. She hadn’t seen her cousin in many, many years and would never have presumed any familial connection. To hear Solona remembered her, and held the bonds of their shared blood of importance, humbled Hawke.

“I am unbelievably grateful, Zevran. Please, when you return to her, bear her my deepest thanks, and a promise that I will come to Amaranthine as soon as I’m able. She and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

The elf reached for her hand, and Micah instinctively pulled back. She gave him a chagrined look. “I don’t think I can handle skin on skin just yet, Zevran.”

He looked at her and frowned as well. “Ah, yes, the reason for your journey here. Though your brands seem more intricate than your Fenris’.”

Micah nodded. “Apparently, Danarius spent the years after Fenris’ escaped tweaking his ritual. If I weren’t a mage, I doubt I’d have been able to maintain my mind. He tried to bind me six ways from Sunday. And the pain, if I hadn’t walled away my sanity, there’s no way I’d be anything more than his ‘precious, treasured Accipiter’. I have no idea how Fenris survived, let alone how he managed to finally break free. I mean, he told me how, but honestly, after what I’ve been through, I’m inclined to believe he left some things unsaid.”

“In truth, my dear Magister, I am very happy _not_ to have to kill you. I would have, so you know, but it is good I did not need to.”

“Thanks so much, assassin.” Her tone was derisive, her grin full of good-humor.

Zevran laughed again, the sound truly wicked and delightful. “Now, the good Lieutenant and his men will serve as your guard for however long you should need them. Thanks to Alistair, every man and woman in the Silver Order has been trained to use the Templar talents and we’ve discovered there’s no need for lyrium to be imbibed to ‘enhance’ those gifts, simply latent magical ability.”

“Can the Keep really spare an entire contingent of men?”

“They are yours, madam. It is quite prestigious to be one of their brothers, and the Warden Commander herself selects the recruits. Truth be told, we’ve rather an army, and while these men will be missed, Solona believes they will better serve both the Wardens and Ferelden under your command, here.”

“And they aren’t addicted to lyrium.”

“Not in the least. And they’ve yet to be proven less effective than the Chantry’s Templars.”

“Isn’t that interesting and not at all surprising, either.”

“Indeed.”

“Well, then, Lieutenant Henley?”

The knight pressed a fist to his chest and bowed his head. “Magister Accipiter, yes?”

Micah nodded. “In Tevinter, at any rate. Are you certain this is what you and your men want? The Imperium is a dangerous place for anyone and I can’t say how long I’ll be in need of your services.”

“My entire unit is made up of unmarried men. We understand the perils and accept them gladly. In fact, we chose as a group to volunteer for this assignment when the Warden Commander brought her request to our Captain.”

“Then I am honored. The first order of business then should be to get you and your men situated in the barracks. Mikla, you’ll see to it?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“After that, Lieutenant, I would like you and three of your best men to accompany me on my visit to the Archon.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

Micah turned to her steward. “Mikla, the letters, please. Do I need to sign in blood?”

“No, Magister.”

“Thank the Maker for that.” Hawke strode to the desk and quickly scratched her signature at the bottom of each piece of parchment. “Zevran, you’ll need these. They’re the reason Mikla here was at the port, looking for a ship captain.”

“I’ll presume these documents free some of the people here and you wish for me to take them wherever they like, yes?”

“You really are so much more than a pretty face and a seductive voice, aren’t you, assassin?”

Zevran chuckled warmly and waggled his brows. “Ah, it has been too long since I had the opportunity to spar with one so… skilled. But I must be on my way, yes? Will you need me to return for you?”

Micah tapped her index finger against her chin, wincing at the biting sting of pain. “Fuck, that hurt. Ah, no, I’m confident I’ll have no trouble leaving Tevinter. Whether I’ll be able to do it permanently is a whole other predicament. One I’ll worry about another time. Thank you, again, Zevran and please, pass on my message to my cousin.”

“It is nothing, lovely Accipiter. I will most happily convey your sentiments to the Warden Commander.” With a smooth, graceful bow, the elf excused himself from the room, followed by the Silver Order lieutenant and Mikla.

Alone again with Alana, Micah sighed quietly. “Alana?”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Would you show me to the kitchen? I’m starving. And on the way, I’d like to know anything you can tell me about the Archon. I’ve a feeling the man will be looking for a way to pin me under his control and I most certainly won’t have that.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

 

Chapter Two

“Magister Accipiter to see Archon Nemoran.”

Micah cast a sidelong glance at Henley, who gave her a small nod. He and his men were ready. Hawke could only hope she was as well.

The doors to the Imperial Archon’s private chambers opened and head held high, Micah strode inside as though she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Accipiter, is it? Appropriate.”

If she’d thought Danarius dangerous, there wasn’t a word to define the Archon. He looked neither fallow, nor lazy, his breadth clearly due to heavy muscles, but the power rolling off the man dwarfed anything Micah had encountered in her life. She struggled for calm, bowing her head slightly, but never taking her eyes from his.

 _Evil. This man is pure, undiluted malevolence._ “Archon Nemoran. I am honored by your invitation.”

The man motioned to someone Hawke couldn’t see. She had a moment’s notice before she felt the sickening touch of blood magic. Her brands flared, instinctively, and she whipped her head to the side, her gaze landing on a group a magisters casting Maker-knew-what.

“Die.” She decimated them with lightning, her power blending with fury as she watched them writhe on the forks of electricity. She was fascinated, really, at the new level her magic reached, her talents exponentially more dangerous, more focused, utterly lethal.

The whole thing was over too quickly, as far as Micah was concerned, but it proved to teach her another truth of her new body: the lyrium increased her resistance to magical attack tremendously. As soon as the blighted blood-mages attacked, the lyrium in her skin fought back without conscious thought, giving her plenty of time to return action without suffering harm. If it worked that well against forbidden talents, she posited it would be even more effective against more normal spells.

Slowly, she turned her face back toward the Archon and caught the briefest flash of fear on that cold, inhumane visage. _Good. He should be afraid._

“You are powerful, Accipiter. Your presence in the Senate can only mean good things.” Nemoran shifted back from her and Hawke was tempted, so tempted, to phase into his body and blow him apart from the inside. If only she knew how.

She likely could have done it, if she’d concentrated hard enough. She was almost certain. But if she took that step, she’d never be able to return to Kirkwall, never be welcome in the rest of Thedas. And once inside the Archon, there was no telling what might happen. If she died in the attempt, the men at her back would likely fall as well.

It was too risky, too dangerous, and despite sensing the Archon was at least uneasy with her power, the man was terrifying. So, Micah instead quieted her magic and fought to dim the brands, but her emotions were too high, her control over her new talents too lacking. “Did they have value, Archon?”

He lifted a brow. “Indeed. By the statutes of Nomaran, what was theirs is now yours.”

“ _Na via lerno victoria._ So mote it be.”

“We are at a bit of an impasse, Magister Accipiter. Your power is a threat, though whether you are specifically I am unsure.”

“Then let me be clear, Archon. I have no desire to rule the Imperium. So long as what is mine is left untouched and I am unchallenged, I will have no need expand my power beyond what I have already accumulated.”

“And if your conditions are not met?”

Her brands burned brighter, the blue-white light blinding. “Then I will wipe any who fuck with me from the face of Thedas.”

The Archon took his seat slowly, but this time the fear on his face was unmistakable. “I could have you killed for sedition right now.”

“Silence.” She spoke not to the Archon, but to her guard. 

Micah held her ground as she felt the wave of magic-blocking power roll through the room. Zevran and Henley hadn’t overstated things at all. The Knights of the Silver Order were indeed accomplished in the Templar talents. 

“I may not be Imperial by birth, Archon, but I understand what speaks here. Do not underestimate either my ability or my intent.”

The man sat for several minutes, no doubt realizing the knights at her back were responsible for binding the magic in the room. None of the magisters would be able to intervene if Hawke chose to attack. “I believe we have an understanding, Magister Accipiter. You and yours have nothing to fear. It is my will, so mote it be.”

Micah gave a deep bow. “Thank you, Archon. If it pleases you, I will be leaving for Kirkwall soon, once I have my affairs in order. I believe I will spend much of my time in the City of Chains, though of course, should I be needed, one must only call. I would not leave my house or property unprotected, my duties to the Senate unfulfilled.” The words stuck in her throat, but she forced them past her lips. 

She would not swear fealty to this blighted leader, nor the Imperium, but she could and would damn well use her power and position to effect what change she could. It was best if the magisters understood that from the beginning.

“I believe that a wise decision, Accipiter. The Senate calendar will be ready at your estate when you return. I look forward to our next meeting.” He left things unspoken, but Hawke caught his meaning.

The next time, he’d be better prepared. So would she.

“Archon.” Dipping her head, she walked backward from the room, turning around only once the doors were closed.

“Andraste’s flaming ass, Magister, you’re balls are big as the Warden Commander’s.” Henley released a harsh breath and she heard the clink of plate as the rest of his men did the same.

She gave a shaky laugh as they were led, at a careful distance, from the Spire. “Guess it runs in the family.”

 

Chapter Three

It took a further six months for Micah to get her, now numerous, houses in order. In the days following her meeting with the Archon, she’d learned the names of the eight magisters she’d killed. Eight powerful magisters, none alone with the standing Danarius had, but with wealth and holdings beyond anything Micah could have ever imagined.

She was disgusted and awed and completely unsure how in Thedas she was going to manage all of it. Moreover, as time went on, her control over the tattoos proved woefully limpid. She could only exert a measure of it if she were actively casting magic, otherwise they flared with every emotional swing she felt, she often phased out of existence for hours at a time, and her skin, her skin hurt so bad she could barely function day-to-day.

Micah thought the reason behind the latter was her magic. She remembered Fenris saying the touch of magic on his skin caused him pain, so the fact that magic literally filled every molecule of her body likely explained the situation. She had to return to Kirkwall. She knew not what would happen when she did, but Fenris was the only other person who could help her and she prayed for all she was worth that he would.

“Accipiter?”

Hawke glanced up from the papers on her desk. “Mikla?”

“The final preparations have been made. Captain Isabela has arrived. Should I show her in?”

“In a moment, Mikla, I’d like to speak with you for a few minutes.” She motioned for him to take the chair opposite her.

Her steward, her right hand in Tevinter really, refused to sit, but he did at least move away from the door and to the left of her desk. He kept his hands behind his back, his posture only slightly less stiff than it had been when she’d first taken control of the house.

“One of these days, Mikla, I’m going to get you to relax.” 

He gave her a small smile. “You’ve given me more than I could have ever dreamed, Accipiter. I will repay you the only way I can, with my absolute loyalty and utmost respect.”

She shook her head, but grinned despite the ache in her heart at his words. She genuinely liked the boy, and boy he truly was, barely ten and seven years. “Thank you, then. How are the other estates coming?”

“The last of Magister Hadrius’ slave holdings have been sold; his guards replaced. Word of your accomplishments has spread even to the outermost edges of the Imperium, Mistress. Those who wished to join your households have been vetted, their loyalty to you true. Captain Henley sent six of his men to the estate, to begin training of the soldiers.”

“Excellent. I’m very disappointed I was unable to simply obliterate those Maker-be-damned slave ventures, but at least I am no longer tied to any of them.”

Mikla frowned, worry etched on his young features. “Mistress you are very powerful, but even you could not hope to take on the entirety of the Imperium alone. The slave trade is bound so deep to the coffers of the Imperium, you would not have survived the attack the magister’s would have brought against you.”

Micah sighed. “I know. One step at a time, right? Don’t mind me, Mikla, I sometimes think I can do more than I can. It’s what got me into this in the first place.”

“Then I, and all of us who serve you, will be forever grateful you bite off more than you think you can chew.” 

She laughed, tension lifting. “As you say. Is there anything else I need to know before I speak with Isabela? Are you and the others certain my departure won’t leave you vulnerable?”

“The Imperial Archon issued an edict that you and yours are not to be trifled with, Magister Accipiter. Considering how many magisters you’ve removed from power in so short a time, I believe we will be safe until you return. Our spies in other houses have passed the same information to us. If anything, I think the magisters will release a collective sigh of relief when you sail from Imperial shores.”

Now that made Hawke really smile. “Good. If anything does happen, you know what to do?”

“Yes, Mistress. I will meet you in the Fade, at the place you showed me.”

“Excellent. When I return, Mikla, I want you to consider becoming my apprentice.”

The boy pitched forward into the desk and Micah instinctively reached out to grab him. The minute his flesh and his magic wrapped around her hand, Hawke felt like she’d been set on fire, was thrown back into the paralyzing trauma of the brands being first laid. Agony coursed through her veins and her vision greyed.

“Mistress!” The steward immediately released her and Micah whirled to the side, retching forcefully onto the floor and struggling to breathe. 

It took several minutes for her to stop vomiting and shaking, in the interim Mikla called for Alana. The woman brought a cool towel, careful not to touch Hawke with her flesh as she pressed the cloth to the magister’s face.

“Orlen, Brennen, get this mess cleaned up while I care for the Mistress.” Alana’s voice was soft, gentle, and Hawke was ever thankful for the woman’s support.

“I-I didn’t, she asked me to be her apprentice and I was taken by surprise. I would never have touched her.”

“Shh, shh, Mikla, she knows. Give her a few moments to right herself and she’ll tell you so personally.”

When at last Micah could open her eyes without the room spinning, she eased back into the chair, actually thankful for the chafe of the inanimate object, and pressed the lukewarm towel to her cheeks with a shuddering breath. “It was my fault, Mikla. There’s nothing to forgive here. And I’d still like an answer.”

Alana whispered a laugh and passed a fresh cloth to Hawke, as well as a glass of water and a shallow pan. With the woman’s aid, since her own hands still shook, Micah rinsed her mouth, before wiping her face once more, and passing everything back to her friend, and house-mistress.

“I, I don’t know what to say, Magister Accipiter. I’m humbled by your request. You could have your choice of apprentices.”

She gave him a faint smile. “I know and I choose you.”

“Then I can only accept.”

“Be sure, Mikla. I will not allow the use of blood magic, nor will I teach you the forbidden arts. That may be a disadvantage.”

“I understand, Accipiter, but that is no detriment. You slew the Arishok, and Hadriana. Then Danarius and more. You were formidable before you ever came to Tevinter. I would learn from you.”

“Good. Now, how about we go to the library, where the smell of sick doesn’t linger in the air. You can bring the captain to me there.”

“As you wish, Mistress.” The boy fairly vibrated with happiness as he left.

“You do realize that boy is more than half in love with you.”

Micah dropped her chin to her chest. “Alana.” It was a plea for pity, but the woman snorted.

“I know you care for him, you care for us all. I only thought I should point it out.”

“He’s a boy! I’m more than ten years his senior. What kind of woman do you take me for?”

“Micah, we don’t get to choose who we love.”

It was Hawke’s turn to snort. “No shit. I certainly learned that the hard way.”

“Ah, I suspected as much. Fenris, then?”

Damned woman, too clever by half. “Yes. Practically since the moment we met, even after he essentially spat on me for being a mage. That would be nearly seven years ago now. Maker, seven years I’ve pined for the blighted bastard. I wasted my youth on him, but I don’t regret it for a moment.”

“Spoken like a woman who truly loves and doesn’t simply covet.” Alana gave her a soft smile.

“Somehow, I’m pretty sure when he finds out what’s happened here, he won’t see it the same way. What’s done is done, though. He is free of Tevinter and Danarius forever. Perhaps he’ll finally live his life.”

“Actually, Micah, there’s something I need to tell you. I’ve been putting it off and I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Hawke leaned closer to the other woman. “What haven’t you told me?”

“Fenris won a tournament, held by the Archon, for the right to become Danarius’ test subject. With his boon, he freed his mother and sister from enslavement. But part of the agreement was that he would never be freed himself.”

“What are you saying?”

“Fenris swore himself into the lifelong service of Danarius’ house, in blood. When Danarius died, his hold on the Wolf was destroyed, yes, but by the law of Tevinter, his oath is transferred to you. He cannot be released, not until his spirit goes to the Fade.”

“No, oh Maker, no. Danarius released him, he wrote it in blood. I watched him do it. You have to be wrong.” Micah blinked rapidly, holding the tears in her eyes at bay with every ounce of willpower she had, as lyrium light exploded from her skin.

“I’m so sorry, Mistress. A blood oath might be able to be undone somewhere else, but not in the Imperium.”

“All those years, all those slavers, they weren’t all sent by Danarius were they?”

“The Magister was often challenged for his position. It would have been a great coup if another had managed to capture his most coveted possession.”

“He will kill me when he finds out he can’t ever be free. What have I done? By coming here, what I have I done?” Her tattoos dimmed, but didn’t go out.

Alana lifted her hand toward Micah, then curled her fingers into her palm as she realized how close she came to touching the magister’s bare skin. “Even if Danarius died without an heir, Fenris would still have been bound to the Imperium. He’d have been hunted as an enemy of the state, likely captured and enthralled into the service of a new Master. His creation was something of a sensation and Danarius was only allowed to keep him because of his loyalty to the Archon.”

“This is a blighted nightmare, Alana. Fuck it all!”

“My, my, the delicate Hawke cursing to make me proud.” Isabela sauntered into the room and Micah growled under her breath. 

“Bela, you’re supposed to be waiting in the library.”

“I did, sweet cheeks, but I got bored. So I followed the loud voices and here you are.”

“Shit. Shit, shit.” Turning her head to Alana once more, Hawke tried to bring her riotous emotions under control, with little luck, the glow of her brands refusing to die. “I’d thank you for finally telling me, Alana, but I think we both know I’m not pleased at all. Would you tell cook to have the meal ready in an hour? The Captain and I will eat together before I retire for the night. We’ve an early morning.”

“As you wish, Mistress.” Alana bowed and hurried from the room.

Micah stood from the desk, heading from the room back toward the library. She passed Orlen and Brennen as they made their way with cleaning supplies into her office, giving each boy a soft smile and a nod as they crossed paths.

“Well, well, you’re all glowy, Micah.”

“That’s the least of my worries, Bela. Come on, I’ll do my best to fill you in on all the trouble I’ve gotten into over the last year.”

“Not quite a year yet, dearie.”

“It will be by the time we get back to Kirkwall.”

“True. Damn, girl, if I’d known you were hiding all that lusciousness beneath those dowdy robes, I’d have tried much harder to get you in bed.”

Micah’s cheeks burned. She could feel Isabela’s gaze on her barely covered ass. “Bela, please. It’s bad enough I’ve been reduced to wearing this horrible attire in the first place. Must you make it worse?”

The pirate chortled. “Absolutely.”

As they entered the library, Micah sighed heavily. She waited for Isabela to move out of the doorway, which took several moments as the Rivaini ogled her unbound breasts. Gritting her teeth, Hawke shut them into the privacy of the massive room, and took a deep breath. She had a lot of ground to cover and not much time to do it in.

 

Chapter Four

Isabela said they were more than halfway to Kirkwall, but Micah was sure the woman was wrong. After all, it had taken more than six weeks for Danarius to bring her to Tevinter. They’d only been on the ocean for ten days.

That’s when the first pangs of fear hooked their claws in Micah’s gut and refused to let go. The voyage had been agonizing, the pitch and roll of the ship made it nearly impossible for Hawke to sleep, every movement rubbing or shifting something against her abraded flesh. The wet air was no help at all, since it turned Hawke’s clothes into the equivalent of cold, wet blankets filled with drying salt, which chafed and burned until she’d screamed her throat raw.

Finally, at Isabela’s suggestion, Micah had confined herself to the captain’s cabin completely nude. She hated it, every moment trapped inside the room. Even Bela realized how very close to breaking the mage was, and had stopped any and all innuendo, instead offering only friendship, trying to ease Hawke’s turmoil.

Henley’s best men, Wilson and Matheson, were posted outside the room. The Lieutenant had refused to allow ‘Magister Accipiter’ to travel without body guards. Though everyone had felt confident her people in the Imperium would be safe, none of them were stupid or arrogant enough to believe the enemies she’d surely gained would let the opportunity to attack her outside the borders of the country go unexploited.

Micah pushed thoughts of attempted assassination away and looked longingly at the armor she’d had commissioned, which hung across the cabin. It was nearly identical to Fenris’ in style, though she’d had to make some modifications. The extent of her brands made wearing smalls for any length of time a torturous experience. The armor had been adjusted to come down in a deep vee over her mons, a strap of silk just wide enough to cover the pertinent bits attached from the point of the arrow, to a spot on the anterior inner lining, which fell just above the crease of her buttocks. Since she couldn’t stand breeches, she’d had a long placard added the bottom of the back to cover her ass. 

Instead of leggings, she’d had thigh high boots made of the softest leather and fit so close to her skin they looked poured on. After seeing the completed set, Hawke had immediately ordered three more; each dyed a different shade, so that she had four sets, one black, one a blue to match her eyes, one the red of her hair, and another in deepest violet. They were lovely, certainly, but their efficacy was more important.

“Hello, boys, everything alright?”

She heard the guards grunt a response and grinned. Good to know she wasn’t the only one who occasionally found Bela a bit more than they could handle. The door opened and the pirate queen entered, bearing a tray of food.

“Dinner’s served. We’re making great time, a supremely stiff tailwind practically carrying us over the water. I’d say we’ll reach Kirkwall in four days at most.”

“That soon?” Micah reached for an orange, peeling the tough skin with practiced ease.

“Maybe even better than that, it just depends on how long the tailwind lasts.”

“So, you were telling me about Varania. What did she say, when she finally came ‘round?”

“It took almost two weeks. Anders said she’d been thralled for a while. Of course, Fenris was beside himself the entire time, plus that letter of Danarius’, which should have elated him, set him on edge. He was convinced it was an elaborate trick.”

“I anticipated that, but there wasn’t much I could do about it.” Micah finished the fruit and moved to retrieve a sausage from the tray.

“Eventually, Varania came to, but couldn’t remember anything beyond being questioned by Danarius a little more than three months before she showed up in Kirkwall. As best we could figure, anyhow. She was, however, a bit fucked up over meeting Fenris, rather Leto. Apparently, he actually battled for those marking of his. When he won the tourney, he asked that his mother and sister be freed. Varania didn’t think freedom was a good thing at all, and spent the last several years blaming ‘Leto’ for all she suffered. Rather awkward, really.”

“I can’t imagine how distressed he must have been, learning that truth.”

“He glowed, Micah, for days. And then drank himself into a stupor for another week. Finally, he spent another week raging at all of us, including your manservant, demanding to know where you were.”

“Wha- Bela, that’s not funny.” Micah swallowed hard, trying not to choke on the last bite of her sausage.

Isabela cocked one raven brow. “I’m not shitting you, Hawke. Of course, things only got worse when Varania dropped another bombshell one night at the Hanged Man. I guess she realized what an absolute cunt she’d been to Fenris, and they’d been making strides toward a real relationship. Anyway, Aveline had proposed a toast to freedom and family, or some silly shit like that, and the stupid bitch blurted out that Fenris couldn’t ever be ‘free’.”

“Holy Andraste.” Micah was glad she’d stopped eating, because Isabela’s words had what little she’d managed to swallow rising up from her stomach. _He already knows, there’s no way I’ll be able to break it to him gently._

“Yeah, apparently ‘Leto’ – that’s all she calls him – signed a blood oath to serve Danarius’ house until his death. Not the magister’s, but Fenris’. Varania explained that if another magister managed to kill Danarius, our elf would then become their property. And if Danarius happened to die of some sort of natural cause or what not, well, the Archon himself would have had Fenris captured and returned to the Imperium.”

Hawke closed her eyes. “You’ve known since before you showed up in Minrathous.”

“I have, and I planned to tell you, if you weren’t aware, straight away. But I assumed you discovered the truth, the day I came to the estate. It would explain the stink of sick in your office and all over you.”

Micah nodded slowly. “He’ll kill me.”

“I think that’s going to be pretty hard to manage, considering you and he can both do the magical fisting thing. He’s got better control, but you have good instincts and magic.”

“This is such a mess, Bela. I need him to help me learn to control these damn brands. He’s the only one that can, but I have this sick feeling Fenris isn’t going to be inclined to help his new ‘Master’ with anything, beyond an excruciating death.”

“I don’t know, Hawke. Before I left to retrieve you, the elf was in a pretty bad way. He’d forgiven Varania, especially since the information was essential, and they’ve pretty much patched up their differences. But he’s been darker, more broody, and downright cold with the rest of us, Sebastian and Varric included. And he’s relentless with the Prince, constantly demanding Vael tell him where you are and why you’ve been gone so long.”

“He’s not stupid, Isabela. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if he already suspected the truth.”

The pirate nodded. “I don’t think you’re far from the mark there, sweet cheeks. Which only means the quicker we get to Kirkwall, the sooner I get to see some serious sparks fly.”

“Fuck you. Fenris has ever despised me. There’s never been sparks.”

“You’re a bold faced liar, Hawke.”

Micah’s gaze snapped to the Rivaini’s dark eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You mean to tell me in six years, you never noticed the way he _looked_ at you?”

“What are you talking about, Isabela? The only way that elf has ever looked at me has been with derision and distaste.”

“Holy shit, I guess I owe Varric ten sovereigns after all. He told me you had no idea the elf was in as deep as you were. I told him he was full of shit; there’s no way anyone could be that oblivious.”

“Enough.” Micah slashed her hand through the air, real anger pinching her brow and tightening her lips. “Fenris has never been interested in me. I accepted that truth years ago. You’re such a bitch, like I’m not suffering enough, imprisoned naked in your room because I can’t bear the salt air or the press of anything on my skin?” Micah threw the covers from her body and jumped from the bed, brands lighting, her chest tight with pain.

“Shit, Micah, I’m not – I wasn’t trying to upset you. Hey, maybe you’re right, in which case, Varric owes me. Let’s just forget I said anything.”

Hawke ignored the other woman, her thoughts too caught up in the past, in replaying memory after memory, searching for proof, one way or the other. Though she could see every moment she’d spent with Fenris with absolute clarity, there was nothing in her mind that even suggested the elf had ever felt anything warmer than tolerance in her presence. Not even while she’d taught him to read, months of weekly lessons, had Fenris once looked at her, or spoken to her, with anything beyond cool detachment.

And Micah never pushed. She never flirted or made advances of any kind, too worried she’d be rebuffed or worse, Fenris would disappear from her life. She had long ago resigned herself to the fact that she loved a man who could never return her feelings. It hurt, yes, but better to have him as a friend, she hoped for that eventually, than to never see him again.

“You’re wrong, Bela. You have to be.”

“Forget it, Hawke. Come on, come over here and eat at least a little more. You’re beginning to look entirely too thin. And if what you’ve said about your markings is true, you don’t want to lose any weight. Otherwise your clothes and armor are going to rub your skin raw.”

Hawke glared at the woman, but took herself back to the bed. “Talk to me, Isabela. Tell me what I’ve missed while I’ve been gone. Who’s done what to whom? How are Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana?”

“Your staff is doing very well. One or two of us drop in a few times a week to make sure nothing untoward is happening. The tension between the mages and the Chantry is getting worse, in fact you got a letter from the Knight-Commander just before I left. Sebastian said he’d deal with it. Varric’s had me, Anders, Aveline and Daisy out and about, solving problems here and there, then attributing the acts to you. As far as Kirkwall is concerned, their Champion has been very busy keeping the city safe from bandits and thugs this last year.”

“Merrill and Anders know too?” Micah couldn’t help the squeak in her voice.

“Not a clue. Bless her, she’s so naïve it almost makes my teeth ache. And Sparklefingers is suspicious, but Justice has him so bogged down in freeing the mages, he doesn’t seem to have had enough time to think things through and divine the truth for himself.”

At mention of Anders ‘passenger’, Micah’s brow furrowed. She had an idea about dealing with Justice, but she wasn’t sure it would work. Isabela wouldn’t be much help, but Merrill might be. Once they got back to Kirkwall, if Hawke managed to survive long enough, she’d seek the blood-mage out and ask her opinion.

“Other than that, you haven’t missed much, I’m almost sad to say. Nearly a year gone, and nothing of real note has happened in your absence.”

“That’s actually good news, Bela. So, how do you like your ship?”

“She a real beauty, isn’t she? You spared no expense.”

Micah managed a weak grin. “If you thought I was rich as Champion of Kirkwall, you’d be absolutely agog over the amount of wealth I now have, thanks to the arrogance of magisters and their strange laws.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the Imperium, you keep what you kill. Thanks to the statutes of Nomaran, the Archon who brought the magisters back into political power, if one magister challenges another and loses, his house, his wealth, everything goes to the winner.”

“No shit.”

“I almost wish I were joking. How the hell did you think I managed to become a magister in the first place?”

“I don’t know, I suppose I thought you’d applied for acceptance or something.”

“Fuck no, Bela! Maker.” Hawke’s words snapped with irritation. “Danarius was so arrogant in his belief that he controlled me completely, he officially listed me as his apprentice. When I killed him, everything he had was transferred to me. Then, when I met the Archon-“

“You _met_ Archon Nemoran? And lived?”

“Obviously. Though he did try to kill me, but that backfired, and instead I cooked several other magisters to a crisp. Only the living know victory.”

“And those two?” The dusky skinned woman jerked her thumb in the direction of the door.

“A gift, from Solona Amell.”

“The Hero of Ferelden, the Warden Commander of Ferelden?”

“Bela, really, why are you pointing out the obvious? She’s my second cousin, after all. And yes, she sent an entire contingent of the Silver Order to me, with Zevran Arainai. Thanks, by the way, for telling him about me in the first place. If you hadn’t, he never would have gone to Amaranthine, and I’d probably still be in Minrathous, struggling to find guards to protect my holdings who were loyal to me and not in the pocket of some other magister.”

“I’d say you’ve repaid my help a hundred fold, _Magister Accipiter_. Zev said that means hawk in Tevene.” Isabela gave her a teasing grin and Hawke relaxed a bit.

“It does. Guess I should count myself lucky Danarius decided not to change my name altogether. Leto, really, that’s what Fenris’ name was?”

Bela nodded. “Seems like. When Varania first said it, I could see he remembered it. Speaking of remembering, why do you have all your memories?”

“Careful planning and magic, although I’d be more than happy to forget the three months it took for Danarius to complete his ritual. And the six weeks it took to get from Kirkwall to Minrathous.”

“What do you mean, the six weeks it took? It might take a month, in choppy water and with a nasty headwind.”

“I know, now. He drew the trip out, spending the time beating me and breaking my bones, then whipping my skin off, and finally letting his men rape me until I bled.”

Isabela looked like she would heave, her lovely mocha skin paling frighteningly. “Micah, fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I think I might be sick.”

“It’s alright, it was a long time ago. As you can see, nothing was permanent. He did it to break me, and if I hadn’t walled off a part of myself with magic, it likely would have. But even all that torture can’t hold a candle to the lyrium ritual. Fenris must be truly resilient to have survived and it’s no wonder he can’t remember a thing from before, the agony alone should have killed him. And having that much lyrium, literally buried in one’s skin, especially a non-mage, should have left him little more than a drooling imbecile, his mind broken by the shock of branding and the excessive amount of healing he’d have needed.”

“Hawke, you are fucking insane. Aveline said you made up your mind about what you were going to do in less than an hour. And you went to Danarius in the early morning. How could you possibly have had time to prepare?”

“Isabela, I made preparations for Fenris’ master years before he ever showed up in Kirkwall.”

“You mean to tell me-“

“That I’d always planned to offer myself in exchange for our elf? Yes. I was only waiting for Danarius to finally come to me.”

“You’re in love with him.” 

“Why does everyone act so damn shocked? Weren’t you the one who just told me you and Varric had a bet that Fenris was as hot for me as I am for him?”

“Sweet cheeks, that’s lust. What you’re talking about, that’s serious shit. That’s the real deal.”

Hawke sighed and shook her head. “Yes, fuck, I love Fenris. I was willing to give up my life so he could finally live his. Happy now?”

If anything, Isabela actually looked furious. “That man might want to bed you, but he loathes everything you are! How could you be so stupid!?” The pirate launched herself from the bed, upending the empty dinner tray. “I’ve never wanted to throttle you so badly in all the time I’ve known you. Didn’t anyone ever tell you loving someone like that will be the death of you?”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, Bela.”

“I’m upset because… because no matter how good Fenris may be, he doesn’t deserve that kind of love. He hasn’t a clue how to return it. And damn it, you stood behind me, you believed in me, you were my friend even when I didn’t deserve it. I feel obligated to watch out for you.”

“Isabela, you always deserved my friendship. And Fenris’ deserves to be loved. Sure, he won’t be able to love me back, but that doesn’t mean some day he won’t find someone he can. Does that hurt, of course it does. But I love him; I want him to be happy. Even though it won’t be with me.”

“I _am_ going to be sick.” She glared at Hawke and slammed from the cabin, the door bouncing off the frame and swinging open again behind her.

Wilson and Matheson both looked into the room. They kept their eyes trained on Micah’s face, only the hint of a blush coloring their throats and cheeks at her nudity. “Everything alright, Magister?”

“Apparently, I said something to upset the captain, Matheson. It’ll be fine, though. Isabela says we’re only a couple of days from Kirkwall.”

“Yes, Magister Accipiter. Don’t worry, Wilson and I will be right by your side.”

“Thank you. Would you close the door?”

Matheson nodded and quietly pulled the aperture snug in its latch.

Unsettled by Isabela’s outburst as well as her own overwrought emotions, Hawke lay down on the bed and tried to fall asleep. She hadn’t had much so far, but she certainly needed it if she hoped to have enough wits about her to navigate Kirkwall once they landed.


	3. Part III: Home Sweet Home

Chapter One

“Help me with the cloak, Isabela.”

“It’s only going to make you hurt.”

“I know, but it can’t be helped. Danarius learned how to keep the lyrium veins from bleeding through clothing, but they’re still quite striking when lit. Since I have almost no control over when _that_ happens, I’d rather I be the one to tell, or rather show, my friends my new, ah accessories, and not some lowly gossip-monger.”

“You do know it’s dark, right?”

“All the more reason for the cloak since the only time I have any control over the damn brands is when I’m throwing magic around, and they'll certainly flare then.”

“Fine.” The pirate queen huffed, but lifted the heavy, silk-lined cloak over Hawke’s shoulders, pulling the hood over her dark red tresses and carefully adjusting the material around the mage’s shoulders.

“That’s good.” Micah shifted the hood, pulling it low over her forehead before quickly fastening the small jet hooks down its front. The only parts of her skin revealed by the black material were the backs of her hands and the very center of her face. “I’m ready. Matheson, Wilson, are you ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then let’s go ashore. We’re going straight to my estate in Hightown.”

“Understood, Accipiter.”

Micah had a chat with her guards, and explained she didn’t want them calling her Magister while they were in Kirkwall. Realizing the men had spent the last several months calling her by the title, led her to offer a compromise. They could use her Tevene name. Could she have ordered them to call her Hawke? Certainly, but doing so could have led to slips of the tongue. Better to have them continue to use Accipiter, than to demand they relearn her name over again.

Isabela hadn’t been lying when she’d said she and the others had been busy the last year. The streets of Kirkwall were silent, no nighttime thugs, no crazed slave hunters or fake city guards to bog their travel down. Hawke and her group made excellent time to Hightown, but as Wilson pulled open the door to her estate, Micah felt a shudder of pure fear pass through her.

She’d been gone so long, would Pup remember her? Would Bodahn and Sandal be grateful for her return, or angry? And what of Orana? The first time one of the men called her Accipiter, the ex-slave would realize something was different. Suddenly, she didn’t think this was a good idea.

“Accipiter? Is everything alright?” Matheson’s brow furrowed with worry.

“Come on, sister. Move your ass. There’s people in there waiting to see you.” Isabela’s voice came low and close to Hawke’s ear.

She swallowed and stepped inside her home for the first time in more than eleven months. Bela was right, she couldn’t let her own fear cause those she cared for to worry even a moment longer. She glanced at the Rivaini and motioned for the other woman to help her free from her covering.

Her skin pinched as the cool air in the foyer washed over it, but she hid her grimace. Matheson closed the exterior door and Hawke heard Pup release a loud, excited _woof_. That was all it took, Micah flew to the interior door, shoving the heavy weight open and bursting into the entry hall.

“Pup!” 

The Mabari hit her with the force of a dozen men and her brands flared to powerful life. The pain stole her breath, but Micah fought through the dizziness, the nausea, the agony, her arms wrapped tightly around her faithful hound as tears streamed down her face. Maker, how much she’d missed this damned dog.

“By the Creators, is she, does Hawke have-“

“Hush, Merrill. I’m sure Micah will tell us everything, in her own time.” 

Aveline’s voice was like the Maker’s own, to Hawke’s ears, and she squeezed Pup even tighter as she tried to at least partially compose herself. It was only when the Mabari whined and pulled back to lick her face that Micah felt like she could regain her footing and greet the faces she’d been longing to see.

“Ah, no, Pup. Don’t. It hurts too badly.” She pressed her palm to his deep chest when he tried to lick her face and was grateful at least she had some spots not covered with lyrium. “I promise, I’ll do my best to fix it, but for now, you have to let me touch you, not the other way around.”

The dog cocked his head, but Micah had no doubt he understood her, especially when he sat before her, patiently waiting for her to stroke him.

“That’s a good boy.” She smoothed her hand over his head, smiling when he carefully leaned into the caress. Soon enough, though, she rose to her feet, weak with pain, but standing nonetheless. 

“Oh, Micah, what have you done?” Merrill’s eyes fairly floated in tears and Micah felt her own welling in response.

“Maybe the craziest thing ever, Merrill. But I’m alive, so that’s good, I guess.”

“I want so badly to hug you, but I know it’ll hurt. Won’t it hurt?”

“You can’t imagine how much. But if you give me a bit, I want to hug you too. I just need the throbbing to ease first.” Micah moved closer to the other women, hands outstretched. “If you both put your hands out, I can squeeze those, but you can’t reciprocate. The only places I don’t have lyrium brands are the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet.”

“Hawke, no.” Aveline’s eyes widened, her throat working hard to swallow.

“Sadly, yes. Danarius had years to perfect his ritual. On the upside, I’ll never have to shave again.”

“Don’t joke, damn it. I refuse to laugh.” 

Micah took each woman’s hand and squeezed as hard as she dared. “Aveline, if I can’t laugh about some of the things I’ve been through, I’ll just shatter into a million pieces.”

“Danarius? Hawke, you haven’t been in Starkhaven at all! You went to Tevinter.” Merrill’s mouth pinched with upset and a bit of anger, for a moment, but then her features grew slack and her large eyes seemed to double in size. “Oh, no, you didn’t.” The small woman looked over Micah’s shoulder at the heavily armored men who’d accompanied Hawke and Isabela into the estate. “You did. Oh, Creators.”

“Yeah, I can use all the help I can get, Merrill. Aveline, this is Sergeant Matheson and Corporal Wilson. Men, this is Guard-Captain Aveline Vallen, the woman that leads the city guard of Kirkwall.”

Both men put fist to breast and bent head to Aveline, who returned their salutes in kind. “I’m relieved to meet you both. Zevran Arainai told us the Warden Commander sent the Silver Order to aid Hawke. I’m glad to see he wasn’t lying.”

“No, ma’am. We’re sworn to Ma… Mistress Accipiter for as long as she needs us. Our Lieutenant refused to let her leave,” he paused and looked at Hawke for permission to continue. She nodded her consent. “Lieutenant Henley wasn’t inclined to see her out of the Imperium without at least the two of us. He wanted her to take a dozen men, but Accipiter wouldn’t allow it. We’re the best of our contingent.”

“That’s saying something, since their contingent is the best in the Order.” Micah smiled at the men. “They’re also trained in Templar arts, but aren’t addicted to lyrium, a definite edge in Tevinter. They did Silence the Archon, after all.”

“Telling tales already, Hawke? You’re so cruel.” Varric’s voice came from behind Merrill.

Hawke’s feet were moving before she realized it. Her very favorite dwarf, ever, came into the estate from the cellar entrance, a tired Anders behind him.

“Varric, what do you mean – Micah!” The ex-Warden tripped over himself in his haste to reach Hawke, only to fall to his knees when Pup jumped between the mage and his goal, a soft huff of warning leaving the dog’s throat.

Not that it mattered, since her lyrium brands had flared to full potency the moment she’d feared Anders would try to embrace her. The entire room gasped, save for Wilson and Matheson.

“Right, so, I’ve pretty much no control at all over these things. Sorry, sorry.” As her heartbeat slowed, the blue-white glow dimmed, until Micah was once again herself.

“Maker, you –“ Anders looked like he was going to cry, maybe after he choked the life from her. He slowly rose to his feet, while his gaze traveled every exposed inch of her skin. 

In that moment, Hawke was very glad she’d donned armor and wasn’t standing amidst her ‘family’, hodge-podge though it was, nearly naked. “I don’t suppose I need to say I haven’t been in Starkhaven for the last year, then?”

“Why? What in Andraste’s name possessed you to do,” Anders waved a shaky hand in her direction, “this? I know you go out of your way to protect us, Hawke, but… I- I think I need a few minutes, here.”

Her heart pinched. She and the ex-Warden had been close, though since she’d ejected the Qunari from the city, they’d had a bit of falling out. While she agreed the Circle was ineffective, at best, and little better than Tevinter, at worst, Hawke and Anders disagreed on how best to effect change. Still, she could see the pain in his eyes, that’d she’d done what she had without asking for his help, or even telling him what she planned.

“It’s okay, Anders. This is going to take time, for all of us, to accept. I’ve had months and I still find myself frustrated.”

“I’ll help any way I can, Micah, you know that.”

She reached out for him, pressing her palm to his chest. “You can’t touch me, but I can do this.” He lifted his hand, then curled his fingers and gave her a tremulous smile, which Hawke returned.

“What was that I heard you say about silence and the Archon?” Varric pushed closer, his smile full of mischief, the relief on his face warming Micah’s heart.

“Varric, even I have a hard time believing the shit I’ve done.”

He laughed and turned toward the library. “Well, my lady, then I’ll have to do my best to make the tales utterly convincing.”

The others followed the dwarf from the entry, giving Hawke time with the Feddic’s and Orana. All three were delighted to have her back, though as she suspected the elf woman understood her Mistress was also, now, a Magister. Micah assured Orana nothing would change, and went on to explain what she’d done with her households in the Imperium.

“Mistress, that’s very dangerous.” Her genuine concern eased some of the tightness in Hawke, and she smiled brightly at the elf.

“Well, I’m pretty sure I made my point. And the staff are genuinely content, at least, and loyal to me. It took months, will probably take years more, but I’m earning their trust.”

“I don’t doubt it, Mistress. You are a very good woman and your sla- servants will be proud to attend you. As I am. Will you want me to accompany you back?”

Hawke shook her head. “No, Orana, I’d never ask that of you. Ever. Your place is here, in Kirkwall, for as long as you want to stay.”

“I would return, Mistress, if you wished it, but I’d rather stay. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Orana. You’re free, it’s your choice.”

The elf woman gave her a quick curtsy and a broad smile before excusing herself to attend the pastries she’d prepared for Hawke’s arrival.

“Looks like you’ve kept the place in tip-top shape, Bodahn. I don’t know what I’d have done without you here. Thank you.”

“Messere, it is an honor. And your friends have done their part to make sure we’ve been safe and seen to. But it is so good to have you back.” He clasped his hands to his chest and bobbed his head.

“Lady shiny!” Sandal danced in place, his blue eyes sparkling with happiness.

“Yes, Sandal, the lady is definitely shiny.” She chuckled at his delight.

“Very pretty! Shiny!”

Pup woofed agreement and Micah laughed louder as she made her way toward her companions. The door was ajar, and Hawke paused as she listened to their voices, stepping so she could look through the opening without entering the room.

“Sebastian said he’d keep Broody busy for the evening, but even the elf is bound to hear of the Champion’s return before long.”

“I have a headache already.” Aveline rubbed a hand across her forehead, sighing heavily.

“I still don’t understand why she did this in the first place. Can someone please explain it so it makes sense?” Anders sat on the small staircase leading to the second floor of the library, head buried in his palms.

Aveline cut him a glare, but the mage didn’t see it. “I’ve done so, twice now, Anders.”

“She chose to exchange herself for Fenris on the chance his ex-master had some nasty trick up his sleeve, which might have caused Hawke, or someone else, to kill the blighted elf? That’s rubbish, Aveline. It’s unlikely Danarius had a backup spell imbedded in Fenris’ brands. If he had, he’d never have found it so difficult to recapture him!”

“Anders, you know that’s not true. Blood-magic, a lot of it, requires access to the object of a spell.” Merrill soft voice was chastising.

“Bullshit. She could have died! And for what? Fenris will never appreciate what she’s suffered, beyond what empathy he might have for having undergone a similar procedure. Did you look at her, what skin is exposed? The lyrium work on her skin is leagues more intricate than the elf’s. It’s on her fucking face!”

“Anders.” Aveline warned with a darker glare and a bit of a growl.

“No. I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking. And if what his sister told us is true, that bastard will be about as thankful to Micah as I am to the Circle.”

She watched the group, watched bodies tense and feet shift with unease, worry, and tension. She couldn’t change her choices, wouldn’t even if she had the chance, but it upset her to see them so fretful, and even angry, because she’d tied their hands and refused to consider any other course of action.

Perhaps they had the right to be mad. Anders had a point – the chance Danarius had some kind of thrall spell buried in lyrium ink _had_ been slim. But for Micah, even a slight chance was too much to take. She promised Fenris she’d help him be free of his ex-master and her plan had been the only way she’d thought to ensure it.

Of course, no good deed goes unpunished, and it was a bitter irony that now Fenris was _hers_ , at last, but not even remotely in the way she’d long dreamed. Pushing open the door, she wandered into the library, settling herself in the high-backed chair in front of a low fire.

“I’m sorry. So, so sorry. For leaving you all to worry, for not talking with you before I left. I wouldn’t have changed my mind, but that’s not the point. You are my family, all of you, and I suppose I did like I’ve always done: protect those I care about, without thought to myself, really. Anders is right – I could have died. I nearly did. And if I had, Maker, the guilt is a burden I deserve. I was selfish, even though I didn’t believe so at the time. I hope, eventually, you can forgive me for transgressing on your trust so harshly.”

The room was silent for a while and Micah dropped her chin to hide the tears threatening to spill over. 

“Oh, balls, come on. I forgave you about two seconds after I saw you in Minrathous.” Isabela came to the chair and laid her hand on Micah’s head. She tensed, only to begin to laugh when she realized there was no pain at all.

“What? What’s so funny?” Anders didn’t sound amused at all.

“Danarius kept calling me pet. I think he meant it more literally than I realized. Apparently, I can actually be petted without pain.” Micah leaned into Bela’s touch, humming as she curled her fingers and gave Hawke’s scalp a little scratch.

“Aw, I may have to change your nickname to kitten, instead of Merrill!” Carefully, and in a show of affection very un-Isabela like, she bent closer and pressed a kiss to the crown of Hawke’s head. “It’ll all work out, sweet cheeks, you’ll see.”

“Thanks, Bela.”

“So, Hawke, we were discussing the elf before you joined us. He doesn’t know you’re here, yet, but that’s not likely to last long.”

“No and I won’t drag out the inevitable confrontation. Best to show him and get it over with, don’t you think?”

Varric nodded. “In the morning then? At the Hanged Man?”

Micah grimaced. “No. Just in case things go even worse than I imagine. I think it’d be better somewhere we aren’t likely to be interrupted. Or seen by too many people.”

“The Wounded Coast.”

“Wounded Coast.”

“Then the Wounded Coast.”

Aveline, Anders, and Varric all grinned at each other. Micah nodded. “Exactly. Quiet, isolated, plenty of room for a good face off.”

“Where is she! Get _off_ of me, Sebastian! Where is Hawke?”

The woman in question jumped from the chair in the blink of an eye, rounding its high, sturdy back, her blighted brands pulsing with light. Thankfully, in her armor, the only lines that showed were those on her exposed skin – unlike Fenris’, which glowed through whatever covering he wore. She shoved her hands behind her back, and then cursed when she had to squint as the marks on her cheeks and forehead radiated more brightly. She couldn’t hide those.

“Or how about here? Right now?” Varric stepped back a couple of paces, falling into position next to Micah, Bianca unholstered and at the ready.

Matheson and Wilson came into the room, calm, poised, with swords drawn. 

“I take it that’s Fenris?” Matheson asked over his shoulder.

“Yes. Try not to get too close, he’ll have his fist in your chest before you have time to swing.”

“Understood.”

“Fenris, please, you must calm down.” Sebastian’s voice was soft, attempting to soothe.

“What has happened that everyone is acting like I’m going to hurt Hawke?”

“Fenris, you’re glowing bright blue and you’re yelling at the top of your lungs. How should we react?”

“And no one else is angry the viperous mage left us for almost a year without a word?”

Micah saw the light on her face dim, and tried to relax as she heard the Prince’s long sigh. “I didn’t say that, Fenris. But no one else has been quite so – distraught by her absence.”

“ _Venhedis_. Enough of this, show me to Hawke.”

“In the library, Fenris.” Hawke’s voice was firm, calm, and nothing like she felt inside.

Her men took position on either side of the door, Matheson to the left, Wilson on the right. Micah watched Isabela fling herself into the chair Hawke had occupied, while Aveline moved opposite Varric on her right. Anders magic zipped against her back, making her shiver at the unpleasant sensation.

Fenris stormed into the room. “Finally, you’ve decided to gra-“ His olive green eyes met hers and he simply stopped talking, stopped moving, seemed to stop breathing.

In fact, no one did anything, but the longer the room stayed frozen, the higher Micah’s anxiety grew, until the hum of the lyrium became a pounding drum. She closed her eyes as light poured out of her.

“No.” The word sounded torn from Fenris’ throat and Hawke gasped as it struck her like a blow. 

Anders placed his palm at the back of her head, steadying her, and Micah struggled to open her eyes. It was difficult to see past her brands, but she managed, locking gazes with the Tevinter and struggling to breathe. “Hello, Fenris.”

His mouth hung open a second more and then, much as Hawke expected, he exploded with rage. He didn’t simply ghost his arm, no his entire body shifted, part in the Fade, part not, and he came straight for her. She heard Varric cock Bianca, had a moment to press her palm to his shoulder before the elf threw the dwarf to the side and was upon her.

The room exploded around them, but Micah could only see Fenris, hear Fenris, feel the fury pouring out of him. She closed her eyes, and her own lyrium skills took over, as she phased out of his grip, his clawed hand losing its hold on her heart as she moved _into_ him.

Quiet, utter silence, no sound at all was the first thing she noticed as she held her ghosted form inside the elf. Then the stillness, no buzz of lyrium, no ache in her skin, no pain at all, and relief surged through her. She didn’t understand why, but in that brief pause between spaces, Micah didn’t care. She didn’t hurt, that was all that mattered.

But she couldn’t stay in Fenris, couldn’t hold this form for long, and since killing him would make moot everything she’d sacrificed thus far, Micah took two more steps and passed completely through him. Her tattoos burned the instant she took corporeal form again, but it was the sound of the elf hitting the floor that really hurt.

She turned, saw the shock on the faces of most in the room, but choose not to address them. Instead, her focus turned to Fenris, who was slumped on his knees, his entire body shaking. She said nothing, simply watched him for a few moments more, then turned and left the library. The day had been long, draining in more ways than one. There’d be time for recompense and castigation in the morning.

 

Chapter Two

Aveline watched Hawke go, but looking around at faces both familiar and not, she couldn’t honestly say what any of them were thinking. Her gaze flickered to the Silver Order men and she amended her assumption: those two had seen that display before and were anything but nonplussed. In fact, the two men fell into step behind Micah and followed her from the room without a word or nod.

Blinking a couple of times, the guard captain shifted her perusal to the elf on the floor. His head was down, so she couldn’t see his face, but if he kept shaking like that, he might rattle something important loose. Though she though he might have already, since he’d clearly left good sense at the door. Aveline took a breath and reached over to help Varric to his feet, before stepping around the dwarf, and lowering to one knee next to Fenris.

“Well, elf, I suppose now you won’t be able to accuse Hawke of not knowing what it’s like to be a slave in Tevinter.” 

Aveline called it as she saw it, and she’d been frustrated by Fenris more times than she could count over the last several years. In the moment, though, she was truly angry with him. Micah had barely been home for an hour and she was gone again, to her room, yes, but damn it, Aveline had missed the woman fiercely. She was furious Fenris, and his bullshit baggage, had ruined what could have been a nice evening.

She watched his brands flicker, light, then wick out again, but he said nothing. Lowering her voice so no one else would hear, she spoke close to his head. “You should be on your knees, pouring out your thanks to that woman. But we both know that isn’t likely to happen. I’ll give you a friendly warning, Fenris. If you ever do anything like that again, I will remove your head from your neck. And that’s a promise.”

Frowning, and fighting the urge to curse loudly, Aveline rose and turned to the rest of the room. “I’m going home. Donnie’s waiting and right now, I think I need to be with someone who’s willing to share my burdens.” She chose her words carefully, watched as all gazes turned to Fenris.

“I’ll come with you, Aveline.” Merrill’s voice was small and trembling as she looked at the ex-slave.

The guard captain nodded, accepting the hand the smaller woman extended, as they walked together from the room.

* * *

“Ouch, remind me not to really piss Aveline off.” Varric slid Bianca onto his back, murmuring under his breath.

He looked at Fenris and kind of felt sorry for the elf. It seemed to him Broody was taking Hawke’s return even worse than he’d thought. The sound of metal flicking against metal seemed unnaturally loud, and while he watched Fenris’ body shake, Varric was at a loss as to what to do, or say.

He looked over his shoulder at Blondie, unsurprised to see the mage vibrating with rage himself. One of these days, those two were either going to kill each other or finally realize they had a lot more in common than either would admit. Sighing, he waved his fingers to get Anders attention.

“I think we should go. If you do what you’re thinking, you won’t have to worry about the Templars catching you anymore.”

“Worthless piece of shit! Can’t see past his bigotry! He has no idea what’s happened, none of us do, but of course she’s a mage, so it must be something evil, and she should be killed for it. I loathe him; I want to end him so badly I can taste it! That would give Micah some justice.” Blue cracks erupted through his skin, but Justice/Anders curled his fists instead and stormed from the room. 

The sound of the cellar door slamming loudly echoed through the mansion.

“I’ll go with him. Maker knows I don’t want to have to explain how a mess of Templars ended up torn to pieces in the morning.” Isabela quick stepped from the library, hurrying her pace to catch up with Anders.

Varric looked at Sebastian, fumbling for something, anything, to ease the awkwardness hanging heavy in the room.

“I don’t know, Varric. I’ll wait with him, though. You can go.”

The dwarf was actually relieved and gave the deposed prince a grateful smile. He paused as he passed Fenris, wanting to put a hand on his shoulder or something, to tell the Tevinter it would all be fine. Instead, he sighed loudly and toddled from Hawke’s home, planning to drown himself in several bottles of wine once he returned to the Hanged Man.

And the evening had such promise before it all went to shit.

* * *

“Fenris?”

He heard Sebastian’s voice, but he was in no state to reply. He was coming apart at the seams. He’d suspected the truth for months, but seeing the reality with his own eyes, _feeling_ her inside his body… Liquid gushed from his eyes, he body wracked with silent sobs.

Varania’s words haunted him. _”But Leto can’t be freed. He swore a blood-oath.”_ He knew, _he knew_ Hawke was the one who’d forced Danarius to leave the blood writ with his sister, disavowing his claim to Fenris. When he’d come to ask Micah to go with him, to watch his back when he was certain his long-lost sibling's arrival was a trap, her houseman told him she was gone. He’d been furious, she'd promised to aid him ending Danarius. But when they’d arrived at the Hanged Man and he’d seen his sister, he’d felt a niggling at the back of his mind, but he’d ignored it, silenced it. Instead he’d nursed his anger. Once more, a mage could not be counted on to keep their word.

But the doubt lingered, and the longer she’d been gone, the more anxious he’d become, the more desperate to see her. And now, almost a year later, when she’d finally appeared, the truth was all too clear.

She’d traded herself for him, taken his place that fateful day.

But in those first moments, lyrium glowing in her skin, all he’d been able to think was _yet again_ , he was trapped in chains to a magister. So, he’d attacked her, blinded by rage and the _unfairness_ of it all. In the aftermath, there were so many more thoughts he felt as if his brain would explode. He wanted to laugh at the irony. Her actions had been for naught. Curled into his body as he was, Fenris understood the woman hadn’t known what would happen when she killed his ex-master.

What little of her flesh he’d recalled seeing was covered with blue-white brands, far more than he had on his body. Micah Hawke had been taken by Danarius and subjected to his lyrium ritual _before_ she’d killed him. He knew all too well the suffering experienced at his ex-master’s sadistic hands. His stomach heaved and he gagged, because more imaginings bloomed as he recalled his ‘training’ with the magister. Hawke was a woman, a mage who had outsmarted the mighty Danarius, and Fenris knew her ‘training’ must have been even more depraved than his own.

But had any of that occurred to him? No. He _was_ stupid; he was a bigot, a worthless piece of shit - _nequam frustrum stercore_. Anders and Aveline had the right of it, he should die. He was torn between rage and gratitude, unable to understand why the human would have chosen this. He’d certainly never given her reason to think him worthy of such a gesture. 

He’d barely been able to accept the truth of his desire for her, had been forced to really when he’d watched her duel the Arishok and win, then struggled to hide his body’s reaction after the fact. The craving he felt had been unwanted and distasteful, though he’d grown to accept that while he detested her magic, the woman herself was honorable and worthy of his respect, which explained his lust.

But he’d never acted on his impulses. In fact, he treated her with cool disinterest, and yet…

Hawke had thought to procure his freedom, had in truth subjugated herself to horrors few could imagine, let alone survive. But all he’d seen when he looked at her was a magister, _his magister_ according to Varania. Another mage with power over him, and he’d snapped. Her heart in his hand, one beat, then her entire being phased out, more fully in the Fade than he could ever be, and she’d stepped inside him. Everything went quiet; still, he’d had no pain, his anger evaporating like dew beneath the midday sun. Peace, for the first time since he’d escaped Danarius and started to run, Fenris had a single, perfect moment of peace.

And then she’d left him and he’d crumpled to the ground, overwhelmed, disgusted with himself. It was breathtaking, how that tiny speck of time managed to rewrite everything Fenris had ever thought about Hawke, about her magic, about everything. And maybe the feeling wouldn’t last, but kneeling on the floor of her library, he was more than ashamed of his actions, he was humbled by hers.

“Why?” His voice was ragged, the word a crackle of spit and emotions too near the surface.

“I don’t know, Fenris. Hawke is ever trying to fix our problems. I suspect in this, the only solution she could abide was the one she chose.”

“Why!? I’ve never given her reason to respect me, let alone-“ his voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Let alone _care_. I spit on her magic, rebuked her for using it, called her little better than the abomination more times than I can count. Why?”

The prince sighed softly. “I truly do not know. What you say is true, yet she taught you to read as well. Mayhap, Fenris, Hawke is one of those people that care without want of anything in return.”

“You should go, Sebastian.” Fenris rubbed tears and snot from his face, keeping his head down, his white hair shielding his actions.

“I’ll walk you home.”

He shook his head. “No. I – what I did was unworthy of her actions. I’m ashamed of myself. I’ll wait for her, here, so I have no chance to hide like a coward.”

He heard the man behind him shift his position. “Fenris, I don’t know how wise that is.”

“She has two well-trained guards and a Mabari war hound. If I were to try something as stupid as what I just did, no one will have to worry about my behavior again.”

“Fenris –“

“Please, Sebastian. Go home. We’ll all be alive come morning.”

“Alright. I’ll let Bodahn know you’re staying.”

The prince left and Fenris fell forward against the seat of the chair, emotions pouring out of him again. He couldn’t remember crying before, ever, but alone in the library, he let seven years of pent up grief rush silently from his body until he was so weak, so exhausted, his mind abruptly shut down and he blacked out.

 

Chapter Three

“Accipiter, the elf is still here.”

Micah had been pacing her room for more than an hour, trying to figure out why phasing into Fenris had eliminated her pain. Then she’d tried to understand the mechanics of how, exactly, she transitioned so far into the Fade. When she’d manifested that particular ability in Tevinter, after nearly twenty armed soldiers had tried to kill her, it hadn’t been like that. Then, it’d been more like the Flicker ability the best rogues possessed. She’d flown from one guard to another, slipping into the Fade, tearing through their bodies, rematerializing outside them, before dashing off to repeat the process again and again. 

What happened with Fenris was entirely different, but she didn’t understand how. _Maker-be-damned!_ The not knowing, her inability to use the blighted brands with any kind of mastery, frustrated her, angered her, and made her feel like a bloody idiot.

Given Fenris’ reaction, she’d been certain he’d never help her. But Wilson’s words stilled her feet, gave her pause. Why would Fenris still be in her home? She was sure she’d heard everyone leave.

“Are you sure it’s Fenris?” 

“Yes, Accipiter. The other lyrium ghost is, according to your manservant, unconscious where you left him.”

Her heart stuttered. “Unconscious! Maker, come on, we have to make sure he’s alright.” Micah charged from the room, noting the curious looks from the guards. “Gentleman, that elf is the reason I was in Tevinter in the first place. If he dies, everything I’ve been through will be wasted effort!” 

She didn’t stop moving while she spoke, her feet carrying her down the stairs and into the library. She found him, sprawled on the floor, the skin around his eyes red and swollen, cheeks puffy, nose chafed. He looked like… It looked like Fenris had been crying.

Micah didn’t know what to think and she didn’t want to presume anything. Instead, she knelt close to his still form and held her palm close to his face. She sighed heavily when she felt warm air pass her skin in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Looks like Bodahn was right. He’s passed out; though Maker knows I’ve no idea why. Wilson, will you remove your gauntlets and chest plate, please?”

“Mistress?”

“I can’t leave him here, on the floor. I want you to carry him to my room. Don’t worry,” she tried to allay the discontent she saw on the guard’s face, “if he stirs, I’ll send him to sleep before he can do any damage. Come on, quickly man.”

Wilson looked like he might have wanted to argue, but a stern look from Matheson had the man shucking armor without further ado. He bent and pulled Fenris from the floor and everyone held a collective breath, but the elf didn’t stir in the least. Up the stairs they went, Micah leading them back into her chamber.

“Lay him on the bed. I’ll sleep in the other bedroom tonight.” She lingered for a moment, next to Fenris’ quiet form, and gave in to an urge she’d been fighting for years.

Reaching out, she gently brushed his bangs from his face, fingertips ever so lightly grazing the beautiful caramel skin, biting her lip as the silken strands of his white hair danced over the lyrium on the back of her fingers. She wanted to touch so much more of him, but would never dare, would never impose in such a way, especially with him unconscious. So with some regret, she pulled away and tried to ignore the tingling in her brands – a buzz that wasn’t exactly pain.

“Unless he does something untoward, leave him to do as he will when he wakes.”

Taking a deep breath, Micah opened the door to her mother’s old room. She cleaned it out a couple of years ago, but had never been able to use the space. Though being inside made her heart ache, it was better than tempting fate and putting herself in arm’s reach of the elf by putting a cot in her own room.

She carefully disrobed, trying to keep the groans of discomfort and hisses of pain to a minimum as the armor came off. Truthfully, her body had gotten better with regard to clothes and furniture, the trauma of traveling by boat more the exception and no longer the rule of her life. But skin on skin, that was truly unbearable. Just embracing Pup would have been enough to knock her out, it probably should have, if she hadn’t been so happy to see him in the first place. The endorphins her joy released into her body was likely the reason she’d felt the pain, but been able to hug her Mabari anyway.

She smiled to herself. She’d discovered the cure for her problem: delirious happiness. Now, if she could just figure out how to bottle that, well, forget the wealth of being a Magister. If she could sell joy, she’d be able to melt sovereigns and have them cast into heavy plate armor just because she wanted to.

Micah eased between the soft linen sheets on her mother’s bed and tried to find a comfortable position where she could fall asleep. In the morning, she’d send Orana to buy all the silk bedclothes she could find. Until then, she tried to ignore the way the material chafed and closed her eyes, seeking the Fade.

* * *

“Accipiter.”

“Mikla! Is everything alright?”

Her steward smiled. “Yes. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Everything is as it should be. Your estates are calm, businesses productive, and Lieutenant Henley is pleased with the progress your many soldiers are making. I – I missed you.” The boy ducked his head, a blush coloring his cheeks. “I apologize, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Micah smiled softly. Someday, Mikla was going to make another woman very happy. “It’s alright. I’ve missed you too. Are you sure there’s nothing amiss?”

“No, Accipiter. So far, the magisters have heeded the Archon’s warning.”

“In that case, why don’t you walk with me?” Micah moved past him, further down a familiar path.

This spot in the Fade was one where she’d spent many nights with her father. It was a recreation of their small farm outside Lothering. Mikla moved next to her and they walked in quiet for some time, until they came upon the small pond Micah had spent hours at with her family. Gesturing for the elf-human to join her, she settled onto its banks and closed her eyes, the fade wind caressing her skin.

Here, in the place of dreams, nothing hurt. Regretfully, the reprieve only lasted as long as her dream did. Meaning she only slept peacefully for short periods, a few times every night. For every bad there was a good and it hadn’t taken her more than the first night to realize all the lyrium in her skin blocked her ‘mage’ signal in the Fade. Demons couldn’t sense her; to them she was simply the Fade itself. The sensation was amazing, being ignored by the very thing she’s spent most of her life fighting and killing. Not for the first time, Hawke wondered if burning lyrium into the forehead of mages might be a better solution to blood magic and abominations than severing a mage’s connection to the Fade altogether.

Of course, neither was ideal. A brand was still a brand, a painful torture inflicted upon another living being. But if lyrium brands meant no more temptation, no more weakness… Micah shook her head. No, that was no solution.

“Accipiter? Is something wrong?”

“Ah, Mikla, things in Kirkwall are as chaotic as ever, it seems. I’m glad to be back, but there are forces at work here I simply don’t desire to be entangled with. But desire and necessity are two very different things. There’s a chill in my bones that warns when I next leave the City of Chains, I won’t be returning.”

“You’d live in the Imperium, then?”

She turned her face to look at him. “I don’t know. I don’t think I want to be in Minrathous all the time. It would be dangerous for me, as well as for the other magisters. But maybe I’ll buy a little cottage near Vigil’s Keep. The Warden Commander is my cousin, after all.”

“Yes, Mistress. I’ve heard the coast is lovely. There’s always Rivain and Antiva too.”

Hawke laughed. “Oh, I don’t know that even I’m brave enough for Antiva. Hell, maybe I’ll procure a nice place in the Anderfels. Close enough to Tevinter to keep my eye on things, but far enough away to avoid most of the machinations of the Senate. Speaking of which, will I be needed any time soon?”

“Not until the first of Ferventis.”

“That’s Justinian in common, right?”

Mikla nodded. “Senate reconvenes then, for two months.”

“So that gives me little more than three months in Kirkwall. Next week is the beginning of Drakonis, I mean Nubulis, yes?”

“It is.”

“Well, then, I’ll hope nothing awful happens in Kirkwall between now and then." She paused for a moment as a thought struck her. "Mikla, I’ve never asked, but do you remember Fenris?”

The boy’s eyes flickered away from her, his gaze going toward the lake. “Yes, I remember the Wolf.”

“You couldn’t have been more than ten, then. How long had you been in Danarius’ house?”

“Since birth, Mistress. And yes, I was but ten when the Wolf won the tournament.”

“Was his ritual worse than mine?” Mikla closed his eyes as if the question pained him. Micah lifted a hand to his arm. “You don’t have to answer. It’s alright.”

He shook his head, his honey brown hair fanning over his shoulders. “No, it wasn’t worse. The Wolf was mostly calm, until he lost his memories and his hair turned white. Before that, he suffered in silence. He’d come of his own choice, he was willing.”

“I’ve often wondered if the ritual is what made his hair white. I won’t lie, I’m glad my hair stayed the same color.” She grinned and bumped her shoulder into Mikla’s.

The young man turned to look at her. “So am I, Mistress.”

She watched an intensity darken Mikla’s gaze and carefully pulled away from him. She wasn’t sure how to handle the boy’s affection. So far as she knew, no one had ever had a crush on her before. Choosing to pretend she hadn’t noticed, she continued her original line of thought.

“How do you know he lost his memories?”

Mikla sighed, a quiet expulsion of air. “He started to fight, couldn’t remember where he was, who he was, what was happening. Danarius was pleased by that, though. My old master was sadistic. He enjoyed the suffering of others, all the more so when it was inflicted by his own hand.”

“I’m so glad I killed him.”

“As are we all. After the Wolf was branded, Danarius barely gave him time to heal before he began re-training him to be his body guard, his weapon, his perfect slave.”

“How do you know so much? As young as you were, I wouldn’t think you’d have had a place in the house.”

“I was the Wolf’s slave.”

“You- what?”

“I saw to his armor and weapons. Fetched his food. Danarius chose me to be his, I think the word you would use is ‘page’ or ‘squire’. He forced me to watch Fenris’ making, told me one day maybe I could take his place.”

“Oh my Maker, Mikla. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want… You’re a smart woman, Accipiter. I was afraid of the questions you’d ask, if you knew.”

Hawke really looked at the boy beside her and felt a wave of sorrow. “Tell me now.”

Mikla drew his knees up, crossing his arms over them, burying his face in the flesh. “I have no family. My mother died just before Fenris came to the house. When I was given to him, I didn’t know what to expect, I was terrified. But he was kind. He protected me, cared for me. He made sure I had food, even if it was his. He showed me how to patch my clothes. The only time we were ever apart was when he did something to anger Danarius, but then I would take care of him. I remember we played when he thought it was safe. He became my brother. I loved him.”

Hawke wrapped her arms around the boy’s shoulders and tried to fight back the tears in her eyes, struggled to swallow past the lump in her throat. “Go on.”

“Then Danarius took Fenris to Seheron, but I couldn’t go. The Master said I’d be in the way. But when he came back, the Wolf wasn’t with him. Then Danarius left again, but when he returned to Minrathous the second time, his fury took weeks to abate. He almost beat me to death and I didn’t know why. All I knew was Fenris was gone. He’d left me behind!”

Mikla began to sob and Hawke clutched him tighter. “He wouldn’t have wanted to. Fenris may be a lot of things, but his loyalty is steadfast and true. I can’t imagine how distraught he must have been. Mikla, oh, Mikla, I’m so sorry.”

“Danarius wanted to put me through the ritual, but he decided I was too young. He said he’d rather wait a few years, until I was grown, than take the chance of killing a good subject out of haste. If he hadn’t found Varania when he had, hadn’t gone to Kirkwall to fetch Fenris, if you hadn’t forced him to take you… It would have been me being branded with lyrium. I’m ashamed, so ashamed, that my first thought when I saw you was it wouldn’t be me.”

“Mikla, stop. That is _nothing_ to be ashamed of. I had good reason to do what I did, but even I wished I’d never chosen that path while the lyrium was burned into me.”

The boy coughed and sniffed, trying to calm his ragged breathing. Micah rubbed his back, soothing him as she had her own brother and sister, so many years ago. Bethany, ever kind and shy, was with their parents now. And Carver, well, she didn’t know where Carver was, except with the Grey Warden’s. The thought reminded her to send a letter to Solona, asking after her pain in the ass baby brother.

“Have you seen Fenris yet? Is he alright?”

Micah sighed. “I think so. He really hates mages, magisters especially. He didn’t take my arrival very well, but maybe, hopefully, we’ll be able to work through all this mess.”

Mikla lifted his head, red-rimmed eyes seeking hers. “You care for him, don’t you.”

Hawke didn’t want to hurt the boy, but she refused to lie to him. “I love him, Mikla. I don’t think I could have done what I did if I didn’t love him more than life. He doesn’t love me, in fact he barely tolerates me.”

“How can he not love you?” A flash of ire in those blue-green depths.

“Fenris has been very hurt by magisters and their magic. It’s made him hateful and untrusting. And while I appreciate your indignation on my behalf, it isn’t necessary. I was well aware he’d never be able to love me, but love, real love, isn’t about reciprocation.” She smiled softly at him, and his frown eased, though it didn’t go away.

They sat together a while longer, watching the water, before Micah stood and stretched. “It’s time I really rested, Mikla. You too.”

“Yes, Accipiter. Would it be alright if I came here again, even if there isn’t any trouble?”

“I’d like that, Mikla.” She gave him a firm squeeze on the arm and turned away, watching the Fade dim as deep sleep drew her from its grasp and back toward the torment she couldn’t escape for long.

* * *

Morning dawned and Micah groaned when she heard the rap of knuckles on the door. Her visit with Mikla had been somewhat emotionally taxing, on top of the evening before it, and she just wanted a few more hours of sleep. Maker, just thirty more minutes of dreams so she could be pain free and she’d be eternally grateful.

“Yes?”

“Accipiter, the elf would like to speak with you.”

“Fuck.” She looked down, unsurprised to see she’d kicked the covers from her body in the night. “Just a minute, Wilson.” She scrabbled for the flat sheet, thankful her mother’s tastes ran to dark greens and browns, the deeper shades providing her with more protection for her naked state than the cream of her own bed. “Alright, he can come in.”

Tucking the sheet tight beneath her arms, Micah sat up in the bed, hissing as her skin cried out at the friction. The door opened and Fenris hesitated at the threshold.

“If you’re coming in, do so.”

He started, looked at Wilson, then back at Hawke before taking the first tentative steps into the room. “I wasn’t – I didn’t think-“ He jerked his gaze from her form, staring instead at the portrait of Malcolm Hawke hanging on the wall opposite the bed. “You are unclothed.”

Wilson inclined his head and she motioned for him to shut the door. At this point, both she and Fenris knew he couldn’t kill her unless she let him. Her guard dipped his head and pulled the heavy wood closed. The sound of it shutting startled Fenris, who twisted to see what had happened.

“You trust me that much?” His voice was cool, as always.

 _Without regret._ “You aren’t stupid enough to make the same mistake twice, Fenris. Take a seat, please; your hovering does make me uncomfortable.”

She expected some kind of ugly retort, but to her surprise, he nodded and sat in the chair to her left. Other than the night she’d undone Danarius’ tracking spell, which she’d only accomplished because Fenris had been seriously injured in a fight and Anders had forced him to take a sleeping draught so he could be properly healed, and last evening when she’d actually touched him for the first time, this was as close as she and Fenris had ever been.

Not even while she’d tutored him had they sat so near. If she lifted her arm, she could cover his knee with her palm. The urge to do just that was strong, but Hawke curled her fingers and ignored the impulse. They sat in silence for several minutes before he spoke.

“I need to apologize. How I reacted, it was, I was, _fasta vass_ I’m making a fool of myself.” He cursed and jammed one hand into his hair.

“It’s alright, Fenris-“

“No, damn it. I don’t want you making this easier for me! For once, please, Hawke, don’t forgive me so quickly.”

His vehemence took Micah aback. What did he mean, don’t forgive him so quickly? Hawke had no idea what he was talking about. As far as she was concerned, there wasn’t anything to truly forgive. She hadn’t expected him to be over joyed that she’d arrived in Kirkwall, covered in lyrium, touting two very impressive guards, and bearing the moniker of Magister. 

She didn’t blame him for reacting as he had. But instead of saying all that, she merely lifted a brow and waited for him to continue. He cursed again, grumbling beneath his breath, then dropped his hand to his lap and took a deep breath.

“I shouldn’t have let anger lead me. Instead of-of waiting for you, instead of… the brands, I know what they mean – but I didn’t, all I could, **damn it**!”

“Fenris, I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” Hawke kept her voice soft, struggling with him as he fought to expel whatever it was eating away at him.

“I was wrong! I shouldn’t have attacked you. I’m ashamed, Hawke, sick with it. I’ve swallowed this poison, this hate for magic and mages, for so long, it’s all I know. I hate it. I hate myself!”

“Fenris-“

“No! Do not forgive me! I’m unworthy of it.” His voice trailed off, eyes drifting closed, head falling back to rest against the wall. Micah had to strain to hear the next words he muttered, more to himself than anyone. “Not worthy of anything, I think.” 

She didn’t say anything, her heart breaking for him. _Oh, Fenris, you are more worthy than most._

“All I saw when I looked at you was the person who had slain Danarius and taken his place. My new Master and like a beast, I lashed out.” 

She watched his lips move and wished he would look at her, but it was a selfish thought. Despite the distance he’d ever kept between them, Hawke knew Fenris better than most. The cost to him, to speak so freely, was great. Expecting him to look at her while he did so was too much.

“I’m not your Master, Fenris. I had no idea-“

He waved his hand and straightened in the chair, head coming up, eyes flashing open. “I didn’t think you did. I had no knowledge of the blood-oath either, until Varania told me. In the last year, however, some of my memory has returned. Regardless, there is no excuse for trying to kill you. I should be thanking you for finally killing Danarius, not spitting on you for finding yourself in a position I’ve no doubt you never wanted.”

Micah had no idea how to react to the man at her side. This was not the Fenris she knew, at all. They were actually having a relatively civil conversation. He wasn’t cursing her for being a mage, first of all. Second, he was being brutally honest with her without the confidence boost of wine in his hand and his blood. Thinking perhaps she was hallucinating, Hawke pinched her forearm, wincing at the stinging pain.

“Why did you do that?” He leaned forward to see the red mark she’d left.

Hawke felt a blush begin to color her throat. “Uh, well, never mind. Fenris, why did Danarius name me his apprentice? Do you have any idea?”

The elf gave her a look that said he didn’t care for her change of subject, but he answered nonetheless. “He had no other choice. You are known in the Imperium as a powerful mage. The magisters wouldn’t have allowed him to claim you as a slave.”

“Of course, he had no qualms collaring me or treating me like one.”

“Apprentices are often collared and treated like slaves. Some of them submit gratefully, to prove their dedication to their master and his or her teachings. Regardless, he could only have kept you in his control by naming you his apprentice. It’s one of the statutes of Nomaran.”

Hawke snorted. “ _Na via lerno victoria._ So mote it be. Yeah, me and those rules are well acquainted.”

His brows drew close and he leaned forward, clearly intrigued by her statement. “What do you mean?”

Micah sighed and looked hard at the elf. “Fenris, are you sure you want to keep talking about this with me?”

“Why would you ask that?”

“It’s not like the Imperium is a favorite topic of discussion for you. And really, this whole conversation is a bit surreal.” 

His gaze met hers and he nodded. “Yes. I would still like to know.”

“Alright, but if you get pissy with me later, I really will be angry with you.”

He smirked and her heart fluttered. He was devastating when he gave her that tiny smile.

“The first day we were in Minrathous, I killed a magister that tried to attack Danarius. Of course, I didn’t realize he was going for your ex-master. All I saw was a big knife and a crazed man wielding it. Some people came, I didn’t look at them, and they said ‘by the statues of Nomaran, what was his is now yours’. Then Danarius said ‘only the living know victory, so mote it be’. I wasn’t sure what happened, but he explained that by killing Magister Hayes, I think his name was, I’d granted Danarius all the man’s wealth and holdings.”

“Hayes, you said? I recall he and Danarius loathed each other. In fact, they hired assassins to eliminate their problems, but none succeeded. He must have been quite pleased.”

“He was. Then of course, when I shoved my arm through Danarius’ skull and separated his brain from its stem, well First Enchanter Arvenold came to the estate and said the same thing to me. That’s when I found out I was his apprentice, not slave. I repeated what I’d heard your ex-Master say and surprise, I was suddenly Magister Accipiter.”

“Accipiter? I heard your man, of course, but I wasn’t… listening to him. It suits you, though it seems Danarius had a penchant for animal names. But I digress. It’s good you’re as smart as you are, Hawke. If you’d failed to reply accordingly, the First Enchanter could have claimed you forfeited your due and you’d have found yourself ‘apprenticed’ to another, probably the Archon.”

Micah barked a laugh. “I doubt that. Archon Nemoran is the very reason I’m so familiar with those laws. He tried to kill me about three seconds after we met. Sadly, for him, all this lyrium is as good for protection as it is for attack. I burnt another eight magisters to cinders, right there in his private chambers. After that, well, the Archon and I came to an agreement. He keeps the magisters off my back and away from my people, and I don’t see just how many of them I can take with me into the void.”

Fenris’ eyes grew wider and wider as she spoke. By the time she finished, his mouth was slightly ajar and he looked, well, stunned really.

“Fenris, are you alright?” She shifted on the bed, tugging the blanket closer, groaning with each movement.

“You faced the Archon and a cadre of blood-magic wielding magisters?”

“Well, the Archon didn’t actually attack me. He couldn’t really, since after those uppity fuckers tried to use forbidden magic, I signaled the Silver Order guards to Silence the room. At that point, the only one with any power was me and my men.” She lifted her hand and glanced at the lyrium curls. “These aren’t affected by Templar abilities.”

Fenris jerked forward in his seat. “You _Silenced_ the Imperial Archon? Are you insane?” His voice lifted with each word, his utter disbelief written in every line of his body.

She cocked her head and lifted a brow. “When have I ever given you the impression that crazy is a bad thing, Fenris? It doesn’t matter, I got him to issue an edict to the effect that as long as the magisters leave me alone, I won’t try to expand my influence further than it already reaches. Which, counting Hayes, is now ten magisters deep, two senior magisters and eight Enchanter level ones, or so I’ve been told.”

“Ten? You killed…” His voice trailed off.

“Yes, I killed ten magisters, in about four months. The last six have been very quiet.” Her skin began to twitch as the pain continued a steady climb up the agony meter. “I have to go back, though. At the beginning of Justinian, that’s when the Senate reconvenes. If I’d known, well, it’s moot now. I have more than two hundred servants and soldiers I’m responsible for in Tevinter. So until I can, if I can, figure out a better solution, I’ll have to uphold my Magisterium requirements.”

“Servants?”

She shook her head. “You really think awfully little of me, don’t you? Yes, servants. Much like Orana, I pay my staff and refuse to allow any of them to be treated like slaves. I freed those who wanted it, gave them gold and transport away from the Imperium, but what was I supposed to do with the rest? Throw them out in the streets?” Her temper flared and so did her markings.

He looked away from her glowing body and Micah fought the urge to growl. “I must apologize again, Hawke. You… did the right thing.”

After a bit, her anger faded and her brands cooled. “Apparently so, since Mi- my steward told me slaves and citizens from all over the Imperium have begun making their way to my holdings, wanting to pledge their service to me. I couldn’t obliterate the slave holdings I inherited, though I did have a few of them carefully torn apart – the worst of the lot – but I sold them to magisters with reputations for treating slaves better than most.”

“Tevinter itself would rise up and crush you if you even attempted to ban the slave trade.” His voice was low, a thread of irritation there.

Hawke sighed. “I know. I’ve been told several times. Still, I have to do what I can.”

“There seems to be little you cannot accomplish, Hawke.”

She bit her lip at a particularly sharp jab of pain spiked across her chest. “Fenris, close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m in agony! I have to get out of this bed, get these sheets off my skin. I can’t take it anymore.” She closed her eyes and tried to focus on her breathing, slow, calm. She fought to push the pain away.

“Hawke, I’ll –“

“Please, I can’t wait for you to get up and leave, just shut your eyes!” She barely kept her voice from breaking as her body began to quiver.

And suddenly, the pain was forced back, so fast she was dizzied. Her eyes flew open and she saw, and felt, why her suffering eased.

Fenris’ bare hand was wrapped around her bicep.

“Maker, thank you, thank you!” She nearly wept as his touch seeped through her arm, across her chest, down to her legs and around her back. His brands weren’t lit, either; it was just the press of his lyrium veined flesh to hers that seemed to do the trick. The pain was still there, but it was manageable, she could ignore it. Her breath came ragged and she drew her knees up so she could press her forehead against them.

They sat like that for a long time, so long Micah almost fell asleep. She roused when she felt the elf move, heard the chair brought even closer to the bedside. Lifting her head, she looked at him. “How did you know that would work?”

The tips of his ears turned pink and she wanted to grin. She’d never seen Fenris blush before.

“I didn’t, but I remember last night and thought it worth a try. Your pain, it seems worse than I remember mine being, this long after the brands.”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe it is. If so, it’s probably because I’m a mage. You said once that feeling magic on the marks was unpleasant, even painful. My whole body is magic. It’s worse, well usually,” she glanced at his hand, “when a living thing touches me. Inanimate objects I can handle, for a while at least. And my clothes, if one can even call them that. They don’t hide anything, not really, but they’re cut specifically to me and they’re made of Rivaini silk. My armor too, it’s like yours. But I can only handle the press of anything for a few hours at most.”

“What about your control?”

“Nonexistent. Fenris, I, well, I need to ask you something.” His face was very close to hers and she lost herself in the swirling green of his large eyes.

“Yes?”

“I need your help. I don’t know what to do, with the brands. I can’t control them, I can’t stop the pain, things happen that don’t make sense, and… I came back to Kirkwall for a lot of reasons, but the most important one was… Well, I hoped you might help me. I know, I’ve no right to ask, but you’re the only other person who knows what this is like.”

She watched his lids slip closed and despite the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, she took the time to look at him freely. Fenris was so beautiful, so lonely, so damnably aloof and distant, but this close, his features clearly defined, she burned this image of him into her mind. She loved him so much, it hurt to be this near and not be able to tell him, show him. 

She saw a flicker between his brows and quickly schooled her features, closing her own eyes to hide her feelings.

“Yes, I’ll help you, Hawke. It’s the least I can do, to thank you for freeing me.”

She sighed. It really was too much to think he’d do it for any reason beyond a sense of debt, though she wished that wasn’t his motivation. Keeping her eyes closed, she hummed softly. “You owe me nothing, Fenris. I don’t want you feeling indebted to me.” He grumbled but she kept talking, “But I need the help. So while I’d like to say, ‘no, thank you’, I can’t.”

He didn’t reply and she felt herself drifting off again.

“Hawke, how much do you sleep?”

“Not a lot. The only time I don’t feel pain is when I’m dreaming, but most of the night isn’t spent in the Fade. Within of few minutes after a dream ends, I wake up. So, maybe a half hour, maybe a full one, two or three times every night.”

“Then lie back. I’ll – I’ll hold your hand and you can sleep.”

“Oh, Fenris, I don’t know. You don’t do touching and I can’t ask you to suffer just so I can sleep.”

“I’m in no pain.”

Micah’s eyes blinked open. “You aren’t?”

For the second time, the left corner of his mouth turned upward. “No. I think whatever is happening, it works both ways.”

“If you’re sure, sitting here won’t cause you trouble later?”

“I’m certain. You should get more rest. Being tired only makes the pain worse. It also hinders your control.”

Carefully, Hawke slid down in the bed, both hands clutching the sheet tight. When she’d found a comfortable position, Fenris slid his hand down her arm until he reached her hand. She had to bite her lip to keep from moaning. 

His touch soothed as much as it aroused her, and being this close to Fenris, she was more than a little desirous of the elf in the first place. She held very still and tried not to think about his fingers caressing other parts of her body, sighing softly once his fingers curled around her palm. She mimicked his hold, humming quietly.

It didn’t take long for her to fall asleep, unfettered by discomfort for the first time in many long months.

 

Chapter Four

Fenris knew the moment Hawke was sleeping, her grip on his flesh relaxed. He looked at the place where their bodies touched and struggled to deal with the myriad thoughts, and feelings, swirling in his mind. He’d just agreed to _help_ the mage, the _magister_ learn how to use, and live with, her lyrium brands. It was absolutely ridiculous, the very idea, but he felt no regret, no hesitation. The simple reason for his delay in replying was a need to hide the powerful surge of desire touching her skin poured through him.

In fact, there was a lightness building deep in his body that had nothing to do with lyrium, or magic, or power. The sensation bothered him more than the ease with which he’d agreed to her request. His gaze shifted from their hands to the tattoos decorating her soft, cream colored skin. The designs on her face were similar to the markings he’d seen on Zevran Arainai, except of course they were mirrored on each side of her cheeks.

The blue-white lines on her chin and neck he recognized. They were identical to his. But at the base of her throat, her markings flared, spreading out over her clavicle and the tops of her shoulders. He could see the pattern of his brands in hers, but Hawke’s were more intricate, there were flourishes here, embellishments there, branching from the designs he knew blind, curling along the hills and valleys of her musculature and bones.

Fighting the churning of his gut, he breathed slowly as he realized how amazingly stunning Hawke truly was. He’d always thought his own brands ugly, horrific, but seeing them on her skin, Fenris didn’t think that at all, and it both appalled and aroused him. 

Micah, _Accipiter_ his mind whispered, the moniker bringing to mind a powerful goddess, was beautiful before she’d met Danarius, but the lyrium veins seemed to transform her body into an otherworldly splendor men, and women, should beg to worship. He wanted to prostrate himself before her, and that terrified him.

Had Danarius somehow set a spell in the brands, intended to be used to bring Fenris to heel? To be used against any of the magister’s enemies, forcing them to their knees before the magnificence of ‘his Accipiter’? The elf wouldn’t put it past his ex-master, but he knew if Hawke suspected anything of the like, she’d never have come back to Kirkwall. Still, how else to explain the sudden, powerful urge he had to serve her, to protect her, to do anything for her?

She moved and the blanket slipped down, not far enough to expose her chest, but nearly. Shoving aside his worrisome thoughts, he analyzed the lines. He couldn’t detect any specific magical patterns, but Hawke had said she had difficulty staying clothed for long. The very idea of this woman, fully nude, standing before a crowd of magisters, brands afire, and Fenris thought it didn’t matter if Danarius had designed his new ritual with innate thrall spells or not, few would be able to think of anything beyond _her_ in such a situation.

A soft tap pulled him from his reverie and he quickly pulled the sheet upward with his free hand. He turned when the door opened, nodding at Orana as the woman made her way inside, hands full with a breakfast tray.

“Sirrah Fenris, I didn’t think you were still here.”

“I’ll be here for a while, I think, Orana. Your mistress hasn’t slept well in some time.”

The sound of metal shifting drew Fenris’ gaze past the female. The elder of Hawke’s guards stepped into the room as well.

“She’s asleep then?”

Fenris tensed, his fingers tightening around Micah’s palm. “It seems the pain is bearable so long as our skin is in contact.”

The man lifted a brow, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of his mistress being in such a vulnerable state with the Tevinter. “I’ll allow you to stay, only because I don’t know how much longer Accipiter can function without real rest. But the door will stay open, a few inches. Wilson will return to post in a few hours. We’ll reassess then.”

“Understood.”

Orana had set the food on the dresser beneath Malcolm’s portrait. “I brought cold things. They will keep until she wakes, Sirrah Fenris.”

“Thank you, Orana.”

She dipped her head to him and started to leave, but hesitated at the door.

“Is there something you need, Orana?” Fenris kept his voice gentle. Despite being part of Hawke’s house for a few years, the other ex-slave was timid and easily frightened.

She kept her gaze to the floor and he saw a quiver of fear or tension skate through Orana’s small frame.

“Please don’t hurt her again, Sirrah. You’ve pained her often, and I have never presumed to speak, but I must now. She gave much for you, has become the one thing she knows you abhor above all else, I know. Still, you have injured her enough and I won’t let you do it anymore.” 

From deep inside, it seemed, Orana found a core of steel and as Fenris watched, she lifted her face enough to meet his gaze. A righteous, defensive fire flared in the green depths. Shame rolled over Fenris in waves deep enough to drown, but he managed to nod. This tiny woman was determined to protect her Mistress, she’d found a reason to fight, and knowing Hawke’s care and support had given Orana the strength to confront him, it only forced him to accept how wrong he’d been about the mage once more.

“I’ll return when Sirrah Wilson takes watch.” 

Orana turned her gaze to the floor again and hurried from the room, courage waning, not that it mattered. Her words left Fenris to choke on his ignominy alone. If Hawke could teach Orana to be free, if she could teach all her servants in Minrathous the same, why hadn’t he ever allowed her to show him the way? Was it just her magic, only his hate, or had Fenris never really wanted to be free in the first place?

That final thought opened a terrible pit of cold emptiness in his core.

* * *

Fenris startled awake, bolting upright in the chair, his right hand unconsciously gripping Hawke’s tighter. His left hand lifted to his back, and he cursed when he realized his sword wasn’t with him. 

“Easy, elf, I come in peace.”

“Varric?” Awareness seeped in and Fenris stifled a groan. Sleeping in a chair was not the most comfortable choice, his aching neck reminded him. It was dark beyond the drapes of the room. How long had he been sitting there, cradling Hawke’s hand in his own?

“None other. I thought I’d drop in and see how our illustrious leader was. What do I find, though, but my broodiest, mage-loathing-est companion, holding _hands_ with the very woman he tried to kill only a day ago.” The story-teller’s voice was low, little more than a whisper, but the sharp edge of his clever wit rang clear in the air.

“Leave it, dwarf.”

“In your dreams, Broody. Why _are_ you touching Hawke? To be honest, I don’t know what I’m more interested in finding out: why you’re touching, period, or why you’re this close to Hawke and not glaring, cursing, or snarling at her.”

Fenris clenched his jaw. He refused to give the dwarf even a crumb to feed his fodder. However, others weren’t so inclined to do the same.

“When they’re touching, she doesn’t suffer as badly. This is the longest she’s ever slept since I’ve known her, and that’s nigh on a year now.” Wilson spoke from just beyond the door frame, words pitched low so as not to disturb his mistress.

“What do you mean, the longest she’s slept?”

“It’s as I said, sir dwarf. Ma- Mistress Accipiter never sleeps for more than an hour at a time. My lieutenant said he didn’t know how she kept going, getting maybe three broken hours of sleep a night.”

“How long’s he been here?”

“Fenris didn’t leave. Accipiter had us bring him to her room last eve.”

Fenris didn’t need to see Varric’s face to know the dwarf’s brows were likely riding somewhere near his hairline. “You _slept_ in _Hawke’s_ bed? Andraste’s ass, I need a quill and parchment.”

“Varric.” Fenris’ voice was barely more than a growl.

“I’ll thank you not to distress the elf, sir dwarf. These last twelve hours the lady has slept without disruption. I’d prefer if she remained so, for as long as possible.”

“Sorry, sorry.” There was real remorse in Varric’s whispered reply.

The three men sat in silence for a few moments before Fenris shifted with a soft groan. He needed to move, and to relieve himself. His stomach gurgled too, but if he released Hawke… Swallowing his pride, he spoke. “Wilson? I- I need to relieve myself. And I need food.”

“I’ll get Bodahn.” Varric shuffled from the room and Fenris stood. Carefully, switching her hand from his right to his left, he managed to stretch out most of the kinks in his muscles. 

It didn’t take long for two dwarfs and Orana to return. The light from the hall sconces spilled into the nearly dark room and Fenris thought he’d prefer not to take care of nature’s call with everyone looking at him. 

“I’ve a bedpan, Sirrah Fenris.”

“Thank you, Bodahn.”

Orana set a tray of food at the foot of the bed, clear of Hawke’s feet, but close enough for Fenris to reach it. She nodded and left, for which he was grateful. 

“I’ll wait outside for you to call.” Bodahn bowed and left the room, pulling the door nearly closed on his way out.

“Alright, dwarf, I need your help.”

“If you think I’m going to hold your-“

“For the – no!” Fenris felt his face flame as he hissed at Varric. “I can’t do this here, I need to move to the other side of the bed.”

“How do you propose accomplishing that, elf?”

“Can you move the tray? Then _carefully_ pull the bedclothes back and expose her feet. I think if you do that, I’ll be able to make my way round the bed without stirring Hawke.”

“Clever. Alright, give me a moment.” 

In the slight glow, Fenris watched Varric move the food from the bed, heard the smaller man make his way to the opposite side of the bed and set the tray on the floor. There was a soft rustle of fabric and a moment later, the lyrium on the top of Hawke’s foot caught an errant sparkle of light. Soon, the second was revealed.

“I’ll bring the receptacle to the other side.”

“Thank you, Varric.”

“Don’t worry about it, Broody.”

Slowly, gently, Fenris reached the fingers of his left hand out, easing them around the arch of her left foot before pulling his right hand from her grip. She mumbled something and he held his breath, but when nothing further occurred, he sighed and made his way to the foot of the bed.

Once there, he changed his grip again, searching for her right foot, maintaining contact. Finally, he was around the furniture. Fenris sank to his knees, quickly unlacing his leggings, and pulled the portable latrine between his knees. Once relieved, he did his best to retie his pants one-handed and stood. “You can call Bodahn in.”

The manservant entered and quickly removed the waste while Fenris moved toward the food, letting go of Hawke’s foot after he had ahold of her right hand in his left, before seating himself cross-legged on the floor and digging into the tray Orana had brought.

“How long you plannin’ to stay, elf?”

Fenris swallowed the bit of flaky meat pie in his mouth, its taste wonderful compared to the fare he usually made for himself. “I haven’t thought about it, dwarf. Is it not enough I am here, now?”

“I’m sure Hawke will be grateful, which of course is sure to get your back up. When that happens, she’ll back off, give you space, make excuses for your shitty attitude and caustic personality, apologize for making you uncomfortable… And truthfully, we’re all a bit tired of it. So, I’ll ask again, how long are you going to stay, Fenris?”

The seriousness of Varric’s mood and tone was made crystal to the elf with that one, last word. The story teller didn’t call him by his name. Fenris looked at the dwarf, the gold of the other man’s hair and jewelry reflecting the warm light from the hall, and felt like he was missing something important. Something not only Varric, but others, had recently left unsaid but was of utmost significance.

“I don’t know. At least until she wakens. Beyond that… I cannot say.”

He heard Varric’s frown more than saw it, when the dwarf sighed. “I’ll talk to Bodahn, see if there’s a cot he can set up for you. You won’t be able to keep hold of her from the floor, and sleeping in the chair won’t improve your disposition.”

Fenris bobbed his head and took a drink of the red wine Orana brought with his food. He nearly choked. “This is an _Aggregio_.”

“Is that so?” Varric’s tone seemed to suggest Fenris’ observation was unnecessarily made, as if to say ‘why would Hawke have any other wine?’ 

The elf took another slow drink, his head turning toward Hawke when her fingers spasmed in his grip. Her body moved, legs curling up by the sound of it, but resettled quickly, mumbling incoherently. Fenris finished his wine and his meal by the time Varric and Bodahn returned, Orana trailing them, her arms full of linens.

It took some maneuvering, but eventually they had the cot pressed against the bed on the far side, the thin mattress made, food tray removed. The makeshift bed sat about a half foot shorter than the bed itself, but as Fenris stretched out on it, he found it sufficed. His arm wasn’t overextended at all. He relaxed against the pillow, but found trying to sleep in his armor was as uncomfortable as ever.

“Varric?”

“Broody?” The dwarf had been about to leave, but he turned back at Fenris’ call.

“I need… your help.”

The story teller snorted softly, unsurprised to hear the pause in Broody’s voice. “How can I be of service?”

“I need to remove my chest piece.”

It seemed as if a thousand questions popped to Varric’s lips, but Fenris gave silent thanks the dwarf chose to stifle them. Instead, he wandered to the elf’s position, and did as he was asked. When Fenris was free of the thick, black leather, the dwarf set it on the floor beside the cot and turned to go once more. “Good night, Fenris.”

“Thank you, dwarf.”

The door closed this time and Fenris rolled to his side, facing the larger bed. He was comfortable, though there was some trepidation in his belly. No one had seen him even partly unclothed in a very long time and the idea that Micah might awaken without his notice unnerved him.

He scoffed at himself. Hadn’t he himself scrutinized her skin earlier that very day? Still, no matter how hard he tried to pretend otherwise, tried to ignore the small, hushed voice in the back of his head, he worried if she saw him, she’d be repulsed or worse, the heavenly blue of her eyes might cloud with pity. Fenris didn’t think he could bear Hawke’s feeling sorry for him. 

He changed his hold on her, sliding his fingers between hers, pressing their unbranded flesh together, and letting the tips of his long digits rest atop the delicate lyrium veins painfully etched on the back of her small hand. Something unknown unfurled in his chest, as he looked at their linked fingers. He didn’t know what it was, the sensations very presence unsettling, but not enough to overcome another truth.

He liked it.


	4. Part IV: Shifting Realities

Chapter One

Hawke peered over the edge of the bed, again, and gawked. She’s seen Fenris’ bare chest before, once, not that he’d ever been told of course, but that experience was markedly different than this one. That night, he’d had a massive gash on his left side, the flesh laid open nearly to his ribcage. He’d been covered in blood, his caramel skin worryingly pale, and he’d been under the influence of a sleeping potion. Moreover, she hadn’t been alone. While Anders had fought to heal his injury, she’d been unbinding a blood-spell Danarius had been using to track his wayward slave.

In fact, if he hadn’t been so seriously injured, she might never have caught the distinct demon ichor odor of forbidden magic in his blood, wouldn’t have ‘tasted’ the spell with her own magic, and finally been able to do something proactive to help her elven companion escape the chains laid on him in Tevinter.

Her gaze flickered to their interwoven fingers and she frowned. Was this yet another chain? She’d already tried to pull free, but his grip had only tightened, and she relented. If he were to be angry with her again, better the fire wasn’t fed by waking upset. Ninth bell sounded and Micah sighed again, returning her focus to Fenris’ uncovered body.

She’d slept a day and more, she knew by the churning in her belly. Going without food was something she hadn’t had to do in some time, but one never forgot the pangs of hunger, nor the sounds the body made as it went longer and longer without sustenance. Based on the cramps she felt, she’d guess she’d been asleep for at least a day’s worth, plus two or three more hours, maybe longer, though not by much.

She shifted onto her stomach, curling her unfettered arm under her chin. His lines were stark on the darker skin, broader, stronger, more rawboned. She recognized them, having seen new, finer versions of them upon her own flesh. However, Fenris’ brands looked… masculine: strong, bold, and unrelenting. Where his were angular, hers were florid. His defined bones and the power of his overlying musculature, worked to emphasize the sharp cuts of his lithe beauty, to visually enhance his physical prowess. Hers accented the contours and dips, drew the eye to supple twists of the body, highlighted the subtle grace of her form.

Pressing her lips against her skin, Micah breathed slowly through her nose. She tracked the veins they both shared, over his chin and down his neck, watching the lines diverge left to right across his shoulders, and down, around the pectorals, lyrium skirting close to the dusky circle of both his nipples, scoring south, every abdominal defined, the tips of his ribs, around his navel…

She stopped there and moved upward again. His leggings weren’t completely fastened and she’d already flamed brilliant, heated red when she’d noticed that. Not so much the sloppily twisted ties, but the coffee-and-cream shade of his glans, the flash of blue-white adorning the crown, which in his semi-erect state had pushed free the confines of his leathers. Seeing the head of Fenris’ cock was not something she was likely to forget, and neither would be the extent of his fury if he woke to her _staring_ at it.

She closed her eyes, breath stuttering quietly. She knew he wasn’t aroused; she had a brother after all. Still, she couldn’t help wanting him to be, the feeling in her belly a near-painful need to see him primed, for her, wanting her touch, willing to let her love him, even if it was in that way. Physical expression wasn’t always as profound, but it could be nearly as potent. 

Micah tried not to groan. She was only tormenting herself, and with Fenris literally at arm’s length, there was no way she could lose herself in fantasy to relieve the currently-pleasant, but-not-for-long ache building between her thighs. With effort, she turned her thoughts to the day ahead. She knew the moment he released her, the pain would return, growing until she could hardly bear it, but even if she wanted to, she couldn’t stay in bed any longer.

If she dressed in her armor, she could go into the city, talk to people, get a feel for what had changed in her absence. She needed to see Sebastian, ask him about the Knight-Commander’s missive. She also wanted to visit Anders and hopefully work some healing magic at his clinic. See what the other mage thought about her knew power, ask if he had any ideas for dealing with the pain.

She wanted a mug of piss-brew from the Hanged Man. She wanted to take a deep breath of the Black Emporium, let the smell of must and age and magic fill her lungs. She needed to press her palm to the _Vhenadahl_ tree, feel its wisdom beneath her fingers. She longed to see the coast, feel the sand under her toes, visit the Nexus Golem and talk to Master Ilen, maybe buy some of his goods. 

Hell, maybe she’d even stop in at the Rose, say hello to her uncle.

Rolling carefully, she turned onto her back. Micah’s connection to Fenris stayed true and she sighed softly. Looking at the ceiling, listening to the birds chatter outside, she brought the fingers of her free hand to her neck and taking the opportunity given, she began to trace the lyrium brands. She’d tried before, but even her own touch was excruciating. With Fenris’ hold, though, she found the sensation only slightly uncomfortable.

She’d kicked free of the covers sometime during the night, she assumed, since she didn’t believe for an instant the elf would have been easy to stay so near had she been bared to the world. Neither would her guard, for that matter, have allowed her to be left in such a vulnerable state among people _they_ didn’t fully trust. Her men had a difficult enough time dealing with it when they’d been in Minrathous.

Sliding her fingertips down her throat, she felt the difference between lyrium and skin. The veins were slightly raised, their surfaces almost slick and cool, compared to the warm smoothness of her flesh. Undaunted by the strangeness of the brands, she followed one line, across her right clavicle, over her shoulder, to her bicep, before lifting her fingers, moving her hand to the confluence point between her breasts.

She frowned as she pressed against that particular spot, for the ore pulsed when she touched it. Delicately, she unfurled a tiny tendril of magic and prodded the spot from inside, eyes closed to focus. Releasing a sigh, she sent the power away when she found no tainted energy, no foreign body. Though the brand’s reaction was odd, she could find nothing to worry about, so she continued mapping with her fingers.

Down she traced, over the outer curve of her breast, then in, as the vein curled around her areola. The sensitive center pebbled, but her actions weren’t for stimulation, so she tried to ignore the sensation and moved on. Southward, her fingers danced, around her ribs, along the curve of her stomach, her own muscles delineated, but with softer swirls, gentle curves.

Finally, she reached the top of her mons, and she hesitated. She knew he’d branded the flat of her pubis, but considering how uncomfortable it was to have anything between her legs, she feared Danarius had gone further than that. She remembered the snaking vein that led between the cheeks of her bottom and biting her lower lip, she slowly spread her legs just enough to allow her hand access.

Fear tightened a band around her chest as her fingertips traced lyrium down, eyes closed to try and imagine the design as she felt the cool stripes over both her labial folds. Canting her hips, she kept going, felt tears well when the slickness of the tattoos didn’t stop, instead encircling her anus. She pulled her hand back, toward her sex, and used her first and third finger to open her body, so the middle could slip inside. Thanks to her earlier arousal, it wasn’t uncomfortable, and when she discovered no trace of lyrium inside her body, she shudder and gave a choked sob. _Thank the Maker, he didn’t take this from me too._

“What… are,” the deep voice, thick with the remnants of sleep and something else pulled a startled scream from Hawke.

She jerked her body upright, nearly wrenching her arm from its socket since Fenris hadn’t let go of her hand. “Fenris!”

The door to the room burst open, Matheson charging in with his sword at the ready, body tense to face the danger to his mistress.

“I warned you, elf!” 

Her guard charged round the bed and Micah cried out. “No! Stop! Matheson, stop!”

The sword froze mid-stroke as the man finally heard her order. “Accipiter?”

“It’s alright, it’s alright! By the Maker, put your sword away. Fenris didn’t do anything, he just startled me. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scream.”

The knight didn’t look completely convinced, but he sheathed his weapon despite his obvious reservations. “I’ll be just outside the door. It’s good to see you well rested, Mistress.”

Micah smiled at the man. “It feels good.”

Once the door was closed, Hawke shifted on the bed to ease the strain on her shoulder, carefully keeping her back to Fenris. Maker, she would never be able to look him in the face again. She pulled at his hold, but his fingers offered no give. Why wouldn’t he let her go?

“I’d like my hand back, please.”

“You let your men see you naked?” There was a growl, unmistakable, in his voice and Hawke’s brows lifted high in surprise. 

“I told you it took months for me to even be able to tolerate clothes for any length of time. Exactly how did you imagine I ran not one, but ten households, if I was only dressed for an hour or so a day?”

His hand tightened painfully against hers. “Have you no sense? To flaunt your body like that? _Venhedis!_ ”

A spark of anger suffused her tone. “You know that thing I did to you in the library? I killed twenty heavily armed, thralled soldiers using that talent. A man would have to be completely insane to attempt to rape me, Fenris. Moreover, my guards are of the Silver Order, picked by the Warden Commander herself. Do you think she’d allow rapists and abusers to exist in her presence?”

He was silent for a long time. “No. I do not.”

She huffed and her face continued to burn. “Listen, I wasn’t- there was nothing- _fuck_ ,” she winced at her poor choice of curses. Embarrassment gave a squeaky sound to her voice as she blurted out an explanation of her behavior. “I wasn’t being inappropriate. I haven’t been able to touch the brands before, or discover just how far he took his torture. I’m absolutely mortified and terribly sorry if you saw anything that upset you, Fenris.”

Micah gritted her teeth and dipped her chin, squeezing her eyes tight and fighting to keep her shame from killing her.

His voice was very husky when he next spoke. “What did you find?”

She couldn’t stop herself, her head whipped to the side, mouth agape as she looked at Fenris with utter shock. “Pardon?!”

His eyes were round as saucers, as if he couldn’t believe he’d spoken aloud either. Both of his ears heated deep red, not a brilliant fiery tone like Micah was certain painted her neck and face, but an intense blush regardless. He turned his face away and swallowed hard. She watched his Adam’s apple bob and still she couldn’t turn from him. 

He stood abruptly and Micah thought her eyes would leap from her skull. His cock jutted away from his body, its weight and length looked to have burst from the loose ties on his leggings. _Andraste’s great flaming ass!_

Hawke was sure she made a sound not dissimilar from that of a mouse captured by a cat, a short, high-pitched squeal, a moment before she tore her hand from his and rolled away. Sheets wound around her as she moved as far from Fenris as she could without leaving the mattress.

The entire incident hadn’t lasted more than a heartbeat, at most, but she was certain now she truly would _never_ be able to look at Fenris at all, perhaps not even be in the same room with him, ever again. _Be careful what you wish for,_ the evil wanton who lived deep inside whispered lasciviously and Micah silently cursed her. 

Bound up as she was in bedclothes, her skin began to throb immediately, but she welcomed the pain, anything to push aside the last several moments of entirely too raw realism.

“I-I didn’t intend to offend. I thought… If you… It’s only fair I bare myself to you, as well.”

Micah fought not to laugh. She was dead. She must be dead because there was no way in the void she’d just heard _Fenris_ offer to strip down naked and let her ogle him. No way in the Black City. “What?”

“I… watched you trace the brands. I shouldn’t have, but I –“ He stopped speaking, and she could tell it was horrifically difficult for the elf to even say that much. “I understand. My body is repulsive, I only thought it appropriate…”

“Fine.”

She heard his breath catch. 

“Fine, what?”

Swallowing hard, and praying for all the strength she had, she squirmed around to face him. She refused to allow him to believe, for one second more, that she thought him abhorrent to look upon. _Maker, I am crazy._ “Show me.”

He stumbled, his body turned in profile, his face cast to the floor. Her gaze flickered, noticing his erection had faded, before coming back to his face. Slowly, agonizingly, he straightened, lifted his head, and locked his forest green gaze with hers.

She bit her lip to keep from whimpering, grateful for the blankets that hid the powerful shiver of arousal that tore through her. She couldn’t control the immediate flare of her brands, but right then she was almost glad for the distraction of the light from her face. It helped keep her from dissolving into a pool of gibbering embarrassment and painful need.

His nostrils flared as he turned the rest of his body to face her, his hands going to his hips, long fingers pressing leather down, over his buttocks, thighs. She didn’t see the leggings pool at his feet, but she watched him lift one leg then the other and knew he’d stepped free the confines. Breathing through her mouth, now, otherwise she’d hyperventilate, Micah started at his face and slowly let her gaze travel every… single… exposed… inch.

The breadth of his shoulders, understated by both the style of his armor and its hue, beckoned her first. Then his chest, the muscles defined and slightly heavier than she’d thought earlier. She’d seen Anders without a shirt before _(the scars, oh so many scars, so much pain)_ and was surprised to see Fenris’ lithe build held more muscle than the taller human’s sleekly lean frame.

She heard his breath deepen as her eyes moved lower, fascinated by the movements of his stomach muscles as his inhalations and exhalations quickened. The power there, the way it seemed like his abdominals almost undulated with every in and out, had Micah licking her lips, wanting to trace lyrium and skin, to taste his supremacy with her tongue. 

He was utterly hairless, and though she expected that, she was utterly unprepared for what happened when her gaze came to rest on his groin. His cock filled beneath the weight of her attention and that finally yanked a sound from her. The moan was soft, her face flamed, but there was no way to take it back or make it sound less lustful than it had been. He twitched, lyrium-lined skin, the design as stark, as striking as every other blue-white path on his body, stretching to accommodate the increased blood flow. Micah began to pant, mouth wide open, but when she saw a tiny, glistening bead appear at the tip of his length, she made a strangled sound and slammed her eyes closed.

Maker, she couldn’t take any more. This thing had turned a corner somewhere and she suddenly felt overexposed in a way she’d never been. Swallowing thickly, she forced her tongue to work. “You are magnificent, Fenris. The brands only heighten the majesty of your form.” 

He made a sound, harsh and guttural, and Micah couldn’t tell if it was a good noise or a terrible one. But she refused to open her eyes and find out. Instead, she sat on the bed, flesh heated with arousal, brands painfully abraded by the pressure of the sheets, head down, and counted the seconds until she heard him finally move.

The sound of leather gliding over flesh made her shiver again, followed by the sound of buckles clacking, snaps being put into place. She held her breath, listened as his feet moved over the floor, didn’t breathe when the door opened and she heard him tell Matheson to let him know if Hawke needed him.

It was only once she heard the door downstairs close that her lungs seized and she fell to the side, gasping for air, dizzy from the lack of it. “I’m going to die now. Please, Maker, just let me die, right fucking now.” She wondered if she could touch her clit without pain, because as tightly wound as she was, that was all it would take.

“Matheson, please send Orana up. I need a bath.”

“Yes, Accipiter.”

 _A bath would be lovely. I can get clean, then drown myself._ She buried her face in the blankets, flesh screaming at the offense and tried not to cry, overwhelmed and terrified that what had just happened might destroy any chance she’d ever had to gain Fenris’ trust, let alone his friendship.

* * *

Fenris didn’t quite run to his mansion, but it was a near thing. His heart pounded hard enough to beat free of his chest and his whole body felt too small to contain the riot of sensations fighting to be released. He slammed into the home, and fell against the door, panting, shaking, lyrium humming, whispering for him to release his control and let the brands _burn_ until he was once more himself.

He didn’t know what was real anymore, what was fantasy, and what was perhaps the beginning of a nightmare. When he’d woken this morning, brought to consciousness by the stinging prick of fingernails against the back of his hand, he had never expected to see what he’d seen, or to have reacted as he had.

Hawke had been on her back, body completely nude in the morning light. He’d watched, enraptured, as she’d traced the lines of magical ore over her skin. First her neck, then her slim throat, down and around one breast, to the tiny, raspberry-colored nipple that tightened with her ministrations, her touch had awakened a response in him as surely as in her own body.

But she hadn’t stopped there, no. Her fingers had continued down, her hand tightening in his as she’d spread her thighs and dipped her palm between them. He had no idea what she was doing, but she’d made a noise, stifled a sob, and he’d been awash with embarrassment. Was she pleasuring herself, gripping his hand so tightly her knuckles were white as she tested the warmth, the wet glide of flesh filling her sex?

He’d spoken, the words tumbling from him unbidden, and wanted to take them back, to berate his errant tongue immediately. But then she’d screamed and tried to pull away. Why had his mouth opened? In the next instant, Fenris was furious with himself for ruining the moment, for causing Hawke to sit up, the sight of her creamy skin, the dusky, tight centers of her breasts hidden from view. His reaction only proved to make him angrier, had him arguing with himself.

Then her man burst into the room, clearly intent on cleaving Fenris in two, but she’d stopped him. Once Matheson was assured everything was fine, the entire situation Hawke herself took sole blame for, the guard left. At which point, a dark, malevolent urge to cut the man’s eyes from his head had nearly overwhelmed Fenris. The guard had seen her completely nude! And as he always did, he’d lashed out, called her stupid, maybe inferred worse. She’d snapped back at him, but then… her anger fled in the blink of an eye and the woman had _apologized_ , hadn’t even thought to castigate him for his gross misconduct.

Varric’s words from the night before came back to him and Fenris cursed beneath his breath. _She’ll make excuses for your shitty attitude and caustic personality, apologize for making you uncomfortable._ That’s exactly what Hawke had done. Fenris slammed his skull against the heavy wood at his back. Why? Why did she never blame him, never get truly angry with him? Why did she always forgive, was she always willing to listen to him, to offer him whatever he needed, support anything he suggested? 

Why did she confound him so?

An image flashed behind his closed lids and he felt his cock throb in response. The look on her face, the soft panting of her breath, as she’d watched his treacherous body swell, silently begging for her touch. That one glance had taken every thought he’d had and scattered them to the four winds. Her look had been hungry, yes, but not in any way Fenris was familiar with at all. When he’d been Danarius’ slave, he’d seen the covetous looks on the other magisters’ faces. He’d even been forced to suffer their lascivious advances, heard them tell him how much they _wanted_ him.

And they did, but not for himself. They wanted him for his power, for the brands, for the pleasure he’d been trained to give, for the excitement of saying they’d bedded Danarius’ ‘little wolf’, the barely restrained beast who ripped men’s still-beating hearts from their chests. How he looked was of little import, it was all about power, position, subjugation, and exoticism.

That was _not_ how Hawke had looked at him. Her brands had flared to life, proof of the potency of her emotion and he’d been stunned by her reaction. But her eyes, her eyes screamed a need to touch him. Her pink tongue traced her plump lips, boldly proclaiming she wanted to taste him. The harsh sounds of her pants pronounced how badly she wanted be with him. 

Her blue eyes had grown dark, pupils expanding to wide pools of black, but not once had there been even the faintest glimmer of avaricious intent or cold calculation. The only thing he’d seen in their depths was awe that bordered on reverence and unadulterated arousal. For him, Fenris, not Danarius’ slave, not the lyrium veins burned into his body, but simply _him_. 

That truth punched into him with a golem’s might and he’d begun to pant himself as blood rushed so fast to his groin he’d been lightheaded. And the harder he grew, the faster she panted, and the sound, Maker, the moment that harsh groan had been torn from her, his cock twitched, a tear of arousal blooming against the crown.

Her eyes had widened when she’d seen it and Hawke had immediately closed her eyes and dropped her head. He’d groaned, frustrated, tense, hands curled into fists, but she refused to look at him. He’d bent to retrieve his leggings when her words finally registered. She’d said she found his markings magnificent, his form –in her estimation- something to be held in esteem. She was not repulsed.

He’d dressed with haste, told her guard to fetch him if she needed him, and now he was back inside the walls of his borrowed mansion, so painfully hard he had to undo his leggings if he hoped to move from this position against the door, entire body vibrating with a crazed level of desire the likes of which he’d never experienced in his life.

Hissing as he undid the ties, Fenris shrugged free of his chest piece and walked slowly up the stairs to his room, each shift of his body making his hotly swollen flesh bob, blue-white tattoos stretched to painful extent. He couldn’t remember ever being this engorged, and that only fueled the embers of anger churning in his gut.

 _Fucking mage!_ Why, why had she touched herself? If she’d simply woken him, none of this would have happened!

Fenris tripped at the threshold to his room as he realized what he was doing. Once more, he blamed _her_ , her magehood, her actions, her supposed transgressions. And yet again, on the heels of his unjustified anger, humiliation rolled through him. What occurred in her home this morning was not Hawke’s fault. It was an accident, perhaps a poorly timed endeavor, but the woman had not intended any of what followed his waking.

He really was a bastard, as well as a coward. Perhaps this was why she never blamed him, instead taking the weight of any wrong doing on her own shoulders. Because Fenris constantly, repeatedly, unendingly censured her any time something happened that made him feel out of control.

He plunged both hands into his hair, only vaguely realizing he’d left his gauntlets behind, and wanted to scream. He felt out of control, utterly sick with all the blackness whirling inside. This taint that poisoned him was as deadly as anything a darkspawn could spew. It seeped through out him, had years to take deep root and grow, this venomous abhorrance for mages that he'd cultivated in his soul and of his own accord. Yes, he hated Danarius. Yes, he hated that he had been a slave. Yes, he hated that he’d been so weak, so well-trained, he’d slaughtered innocents simply because his master bade him to do so.

But he’d been making his own choices for years, or at least that’s what he told himself. He hadn’t though, not really. He’d let his fear of recapture, his distrust of magic and those who wielded it change from protective instincts into a weapon he used to guide his actions. He also employed his hateful mindset to destroy anyone, or anything, that got too close, that made him feel anything uncomfortable. Especially if that thing had blood-red hair, magic in her soul, and eyes so blue they put the sky to shame.

As he sank to his knees before the cold ashes of the fireplace, Fenris felt empty inside, a place he’d ignored for so long, but was now clamoring for notice. And the only thing he could hear inside his head was her name. Micah.

 

Chapter Two

In the three days since ‘the incident’, Hawke hadn’t let anyone go to Fenris. Not on her behalf or out of their own concern. She may have slept like shit but she knew the elf needed time. Maker, she needed time. She felt like something serious, something real and maybe dangerous, had shifted between them and the longer he took to show his face again, in truth, the less anxious she was about the whole thing.

Her distracted thoughts almost caused a nasty burn, thanks to the abomination she fought. This was the last blood-mage to deal with, for the Knight-Commander, and though Hawke was loathe to help that woman at all, her request for aid was reasonable. Though Micah understood the lure of the forbidden arts, she often found the reasoning blood-mages gave were flimsy at best, poorly concealing their true motivation, which was usually a thirst for power. Killing them, while not something she did with relish, usually proved necessary.

She dodged another blow and her thoughts drifted again. Much to her first delight, then consternation, Kirkwall really hadn’t changed much in the last year. The same people wanted her attention and aid, the same nobles stood gossiping and complaining in Hightown and her uncle was still usually drunk and spending what little coin he had on whores. Well, there was a High Dragon at the Bone Pit, and while surprising, it wasn’t exactly a change. She’d killed dragons there before, after all.

“Anders, the shades, behind you!” Merrill’s voice drew Hawke back to the fight at hand.

She felt the sizzle of power as her brands surged with energy. Deciding it was time to end things, Micah rushed the abomination that had once been a caring woman. A mage whose only failure had been thinking the tyrannical circle in Kirkwall would help her feed the orphans she’d cared for, instead of expecting them to brand her a maleficar and lock her away.

She passed into the possessed woman’s body. Though it wasn’t exactly like being inside her angsty, Tevinter elf (her whole body wrenched with pain this time) the rest was similar. The outside world disappeared, everything was quiet and still. Micah felt a pang of regret. She wasn’t happy with the idea of tearing the woman apart from the inside, but the demon had to die.

Her brands hummed loudly. Of their own volition, her lyrium infused hands reached out, locking around the demon who’d taken root inside Evelina. It thrashed in her grip, but she held on, gasping when her body pulsed, a hard strong throb of power, and she felt the Veil open behind her. Some strange instinct guiding her, Micah fell backward, her phased form and the demon in her clutches dropping away from Kirkwall and into the Fade.

The demon roared and Hawke pulsed again, magic pouring out of her, enhanced by lyrium. There was a crackle, a pop, and her hands were empty, the whole front of her body covered in demonic goop. She looked around, aghast, disgusted, and confused. What had she done?

Her skin quivered and she shook some of the gunk from her hands. She was awake. She couldn’t stay in the Fade like this. Her eyes searched, landing on an inconsistency not far from her position. Micah hurried to it, and was shocked by what she saw, the Darktown sewer where she, Anders, Merrill, and Varric had gone to confront Evelina. Not knowing what to do, but deciding to follow her gut anyway, Hawke pushed through the tear, and found herself once more in Kirkwall.

Evelina’s body lay at her feet, battered but breathing. Her brands pounded again and she turned back to the tear she’d somehow made. Guided by power, she placed her hands on either side of the rift and with lyrium singing like chiming bells in her head, she smoothed her palms over the damage, watching the fabric of reality come together, seamless and perfect once more.

“What in the Maker’s name did you just do?”

Micah startled at Anders’ voice. “I haven’t the faintest notion. Come on, she’s still alive; let’s see if we can heal her.”

The other mage made his way to her side, and though Evelina was damaged, between the two of them, they managed to get her healed and up on her feet.

“What have I done?” The woman looked at the terrified faces of two of her charges and dissolved into harsh weeping.

“You turned to forbidden magic. But apparently, my friend here managed to dispossess you.” Anders gave her a strange look, part curiosity and part fear.

Hawke didn’t respond to his unspoken question. Instead, she looked at the woman intently, then lifted her still glowing hands to Evelina’s chest. Her hand plunged in and Anders fell back onto his ass. “Micah, no!”

“Shut up, Anders, and give me a minute. The brands are guiding me. I want to see where I’ll end up.”

Evelina held perfectly still, her eyes wide with shock. After a few minutes a look of peace passed over the woman’s features and she sagged forward against Micah. “Thank you, Messere.”

“You’re welcome, Evelina. Don’t waste the gift I’ve given you. Take your children and leave Kirkwall, now, today if possible. Varric, give the woman money enough to feed her and those in her care and take ship away from this blighted city.” The dwarf moved to her side and handed a small pouch to the Ferelden mage.

“I don’t know what to say.”

“Give me your word you won’t ever turn to demons again.”

“Yes, messere. Never.”

Micah nodded. “Go.”

She stood with her companions and watched the woman collect the two boys and hurry from the sewers. Anders put his hand on her head and she turned to look at him. “I think I understand what Danarius’ intended with his ritual.”

“What? What did he do to you?”

“He created a waking Dreamer. A lyrium ghost that can walk into the Fade at will.”

* * *

The first truly changed thing she noticed about Kirkwall almost sent Micah to her knees.

She’d agreed to go with Anders to see First Enchanter Orsino. But the moment they stepped into the Gallows, Hawke felt a tendril of fear snake up her spine, this place, it felt _wrong_.

“Anders, something’s not right.” She hesitated near the armor merchant’s table.

He turned to her, his face weary. “I know. Come on.”

She moved to his side, and it took only a few more feet of travel for Hawke to realize what, exactly, the problem was.

The number of Tranquil mages milling about the Gallows staggered her. 

A rage so powerful it stole her breath erupted inside and the brands reacted. “I can’t- I have to go. I can’t-“ She couldn’t finish speaking. Nausea twisting her stomach, Hawke spun on heel and ran, as fast as she could, from the Gallows, from the horror she didn’t want to believe, but couldn’t ignore.

Anders had said Meredith seemed to have lost her mind, but seeing it with her own two eyes made her so angry, it was so crushingly appalling, Micah wasn’t sure she could deal with it. She fled, to the docks, to Hightown, crashing through the door of her estate, stumbling, blinded by tears, up the stairs to her chamber.

Hawke waved off Matheson and Wilson, slamming the door shut before she threw herself on the bed and sobbed, helpless, furious, hacking moans she couldn’t stem. Her mind flashed back to the Gallows, recalled faces she knew, mages she’d spoken to, that she knew had passed their Harrowing. All of their foreheads marked with the brand. It was inhumane, it went against the Chantry’s own laws, and no one aside from her and the half-abomination, apostate, ex-Warden even seemed to care.

She drug herself from the bed, muscles seizing from fury and pain, and tore her armor off with a scream. “I will _kill_ her. Wipe her from the face of Thedas!”

Limbs trembling, she staggered to the wardrobe, hastily pulling out a dark blue silk outfit, one of those she’d had made in Tevinter. Her skin pinched, but the cool fabric soothed the burn somewhat. With jerky motions, she strode the dresser, pulling a brush through her hair before pinning the bangs back with a clip. She looked in the mirror and nearly destroyed it. 

She wasn’t nude, and the dark fabric was somewhat opaque, but the lightness of it meant she could still see the outline of her breasts, her nipples shadowed circles at their centers, the dark cleft between her thighs. Her attire wasn’t indecent, necessarily, but in the bright light of the Kirkwall afternoon, it would provide little coverage. With a growl, she slammed the brush atop the dark wood chest and stormed to the bedroom door. If she couldn’t go out, then she’d adapt.

“Bring me Fenris and Anders. Now.”

The Silver Order guards snapped to attention. “Yes, Magister.”

She didn’t even comment on their slip of the tongue. Instead, she strode from the room behind them. At the bottom of the stairs she motioned to Bodahn.

“How can I help?”

“Can you and Sandal remove all the furniture from the lower level of the library?”

“Of course, Mistress.”

“Good. I’m going to need the space. Also, my skin hurts so badly, I have to remove my clothes. I don’t want to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable in any way, Bodahn. If you need to go elsewhere for a while, I’ll understand.”

The dwarf’s gaze shifted to Sandal, then back to Hawke. “Thank you for offering me a choice, but I think the boy and I will stay right here. I heard you tell your men to fetch the elf and the healer. I wouldn’t feel right, leaving you with them alone.”

Micah felt a grin pull at her lips, growing wider as some of the emotion riding her eased away. “You’re a good man, Bodahn.”

“And you’re a good woman.”

She inclined her head in acceptance of his compliment. “Orana, could you bring up two bottles of the Aggregio and a carafe of water as well?”

The elf bobbed a curtsy. “Right away, Mistress.”

“Let’s get that furniture out of the way.” 

Bodahn gathered his boy and Micah followed them into the library. The dwarf made good on his word and in perhaps a half hour, the desk, two chairs, a trunk, and miscellaneous bits and bobs from the first floor of the library had been relocated. The only thing that remained was an armor stand, which Hawke used to hold her clothes. Finally unencumbered, she was able to push her companion, Pain, aside and bring her emotions under control.

While she’d watched Bodahn and Sandal rearrange, Orana had brought a tray laden with two bottles of wine, a large pitcher of water that Hawke had iced herself, and three glasses. She smiled at the woman. “Thank you. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Bodahn, if my being uncovered is distressing, you don’t need to stay.”

“You’re very lovely, Mistress.” The elf’s cheeks colored.

“That’s very kind of you, Orana.”

She received a shy smile in return for her thanks. “I have dinner to tend. I couldn’t go. But I’ll be in the kitchen, if you should need me.”

“Alright.”

Micah sighed. She hated waiting, so she began to pace, putting her thoughts in order, getting her plan together, plotting out every possible scenario she could imagine, hoping she was prepared for, or had at least thought of, all the variant paths her goal for the afternoon could possibly spawn.

The sound of the front door opening brought her to total calm. It was as if something inside her simply slid into place. All her anxiety flitted away. She knew she could do what she planned. So long as everything worked out like she suspected, her plan would prove a theory true and eliminate a potential future threat at the same time. Either way, her mind was made, there was no turning back.

“By the Maker!” Anders shocked cry turned Micah to face the men she’d had summoned.

She motioned to Wilson. “Close the door and don’t come in unless I specifically call for you.”

He didn’t like her order, but he didn’t argue. “Yes, Accipiter.”

“You’re naked!”

Micah rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m bloody naked. Deal with it, Anders, my nudity is the least of our problems.”

Her words had little effect, since neither man moved farther than half way into the room, both of them rooted to the floor it seemed. Even when the door closed with a solid _click_ , neither male blinked or responded in any way.

“Focus!” She snapped her fingers and finally, coherency flickered in two sets of wide eyes. “Fenris, catch Anders.”

“Catch-“

“If he cracks his skull, I’m going to be livid with you.”

Micah took a deep breath and hopped two steps closer to the other mage before reaching inside for the humming core she hadn’t noticed until this afternoon and igniting her brands. The she leapt _into_ Anders and prayed her supposition was right.

* * *

Fenris barely managed to get hold of Anders beneath his arms before the man’s knees gave out. He was surprised by how thin the mage felt as he carefully lowered them both to the floor, the other man’s head cradled in his lap. And though he might have imagined a mage in his lap recently, it certainly hadn’t been the Abomination.

Anders body seized, and Fenris scrambled to get hold of the man’s flailing arms before he was struck. Crossing the blonde’s arms over his chest, Fenris did his best to hold the mage still, was grunting with the effort when he fell silent and still, breath coming slowly, and shallow, but still there.

The elf took a moment to get his bearings. He’d barely been in the Hawke estate for ten minutes, but so much had happened, his mind was trying to piece it all together. He’d been surprised to see the Silver Order at his door, more so when he’d noticed Anders with them, but he hadn’t hesitated when the elder of the two told him ‘Accipiter’ needed him.

And when they’d arrived, he’d been dumbstruck. Standing beneath the large window, in the bright, sun-lit library, a nude Hawke waited. Her image from days past was burned into his memory, but seeing her that way, golden beams of light dancing over her form, he hadn’t known what to do, to think. And she’d barely given him time to find his sense before she Fade shifted and thrown her body into Anders.

Fenris looked down at the other man, noticed his breathing was closer to normal and the pinched look of his face was gone, leaving the man’s visage much younger, but also very gaunt. Fenris frowned. He didn’t like the worried feeling stirring inside, especially when it was focused on Anders. He loathed the Abomination and his ridiculous notions about mage freedom.

Or did he? He thought back over his many years of acquaintance with the man supported by his thighs. Certainly, Anders had some illusions about the ‘freed mages’ in the Imperium, but the root of the man’s arguments centered on the injustice of the Circle and its enslavement of mages. Fenris refused to accept this argument. Staring down at the blonde now, the man closer than he’d ever been, the elf noticed for the first time the silver shimmer of scar tissue around Anders throat and he began to think, perhaps, Anders wasn’t the only one with illusions.

The elf pressed a thumb and forefinger on either side of the bridge of his nose, at the corners of his eyes. A dull throb grew between his temples. Even he couldn’t deny the way fewer and fewer unbranded mages wandered the Gallows. Maker, Aveline had been disturbed the last time they’d traveled there, and she’d been married to a Templar. But the guard-captain told him mages past their Harrowing weren’t made Tranquil, ever. If a Harrowed mage turned to the forbidden arts, they were jailed, or if necessary, killed, but never made Tranquil. It went against the edicts of the Chantry itself.

Aveline’s concern had twisted something in Fenris then, but as with everything else he didn’t want to think about, he’d shoved the feeling away. Now, the last year, the last several days, the truths he’d finally forced himself to face… now, Fenris sensed he’d been wrong, at least somewhat, about what the Circle and the White Chantry really were. 

Anders whimpered, his body growing taut, and Fenris did something he’d never have believed himself capable of, not with his past and his hatreds. He lifted his hand to the mage’s head and carefully smoothed back the man’s hair.

“Shh, Anders, I’m here. It’ll be alright.”

 

Chapter Three

If Micah hadn’t been able to catch Justice/Vengeance by surprise the way she had, chances were she’d never have managed to tear him free from Anders. As it was, she was damned lucky she’d been able to heave him into the Fade and seal the hemorrhage of Anders mage-spirit before the damned spirit/demon had slipped back inside the ex-Warden.

“You can’t get back, fighting me is useless!” She dodged behind a large rock and panted. He’d managed to wound her with that blighted sword of his. She was bleeding, growing weaker by the minute. Fighting a full on battle, naked, against the enraged whatever-he-was actually hadn’t been one of her imagined scenarios.

“Justice has not been served! The Templars, the Chantry, the Circle must pay for the abuses they have wrought on all mages for more than a thousand years!”

The Fade itself shuddered with his rage and Hawke shook her head. “Listen to yourself! Those aren’t the words of a Spirit of the Fade. They’re the coercions of a demon of vengeance!”

“No.” 

She heard an odd gurgle, felt a shiver as power leached from somewhere beyond the stone she hid behind. Carefully, she peeked around the rock and saw Justice collapsed against a smaller projection not far from her.

Pressing her hand to her side, she rose and slowly approached him, magic at the ready for another assault. “Justice?”

“I don’t know that I am he any longer.”

“Maybe not exactly, but Anders was still able to perform healing magic, so you aren’t a full demon yet. You’re one of the Maker’s First Children, Justice, and you’re home now. Maybe that’s enough, maybe you’ll go back to the way you were, without the influence of human emotion.”

He looked up at her, silvery tears trailing down his face. She realized she’d never seen his real aspect before, and though he looked much like she did when she phased, all blue outline and hints of shape, she thought him lovely. Looking deeper, she saw streaks of darkness and reached out to them, lyrium resonating as she pulled the stains from him, grimacing as the substance tried to cling to her form.

She flung it away, found more, and repeated the gesture until only sweet, lyrium song echoed from Justice. She gave him a smile she hoped he could see then turned her magic to the sludge, burning it away to nothing but faded ash. “There, now, all better.”

He shone, so brightly she had to squint. “Thank you. I do not understand how you did it, but I cannot feel the anger burning inside any longer.”

“You’re welcome. I think I need to go, I’m bleeding pretty badly here.”

“Let me help. I’m no healer, but I can direct the lyrium.”

Micah wasn’t sure what he meant, but she nodded. He lifted on hand to her side and she gasped as fire tore through her, almost gagged as she felt his energy pull at the ore in her skin. She staggered, felt the press of a cool palm against her bare hip, and bit her lip to keep the scream inside. She understood what Justice had said as she felt the lyrium knit her flesh together.

“Can you stand on your own?”

She nodded and he pulled his hand away. Maker, she was going to pass out. “I have to go.”

“Good bye, Micah Hawke. May the Maker watch over you.”

She stumbled a bit, and focused on opening a doorway back to Kirkwall. Lifting a trembling hand, she drew her index finger in a long line and sagged when her library came into view. “Good bye, Justice. Be at peace.” She fell through the opening, and used the last of her energy to close the tear before her knees completely gave way.

“Hawke!”

The smell of lyrium and sword oil filled her nose, warm hands curved around her body. “No pain. Fenris, wonderful, perfect, Fenris.” Her eyes slid closed and she dropped like a stone into the abyss.

* * *

“ _Venhedis!_ Wilson! Wilson, I need your help!” The library door flew open and Fenris looked beseechingly at the guard. 

“What’s happened?”

“I don’t know, but they’re both unconscious. Help me. You take Anders, I’ll take Hawke. Upstairs. Maker, she’s like ice.”

With haste, Fenris and the guard carried both mages up the staircase and into Hawke’s room. Her bed was massive and once he had Micah settled, he waved his hand, telling the other man to lay his burden next to her on the mattress.

“Get me some furs and have the fire lit. I’ll stay here, keep hold of her.”

“Right away.”

Bodahn returned with Wilson. Fenris accepted the warm bear skins from the guard while the dwarf started a roaring flame in the fireplace. 

“The tray, in the library, please bring it up and a dry cloth. Bodahn, could you please collect Merrill from the Alienage? And Prince Vael, from the Chantry, as well. I don’t know what’s happened, but with magic or the Maker, perhaps one of the others will be able to help.”

“I’ll wake Matheson, elf. He’ll want to made aware of whats happened.”

Fenris nodded as he looked at the bed. Hawke’s hand hung limp and frigid in his grip and he fought the wave of panic climbing his throat. With little of his inborn grace, he tore his sword from his back, dropping it to the floor. Fumbling fingers pried at buckles and clasps, his own hands trembling as he struggled to take off his chest piece.

“Let me.” Wilson was there, and with practiced ease, Fenris was left in his leggings.

“Thank you.” Taking a slow breath and seeking a calm he didn’t feel, the elf climbed onto the bed, putting his body between Hawke’s and Anders’ still forms. “The furs.”

The guard lifted a brow, clearly displeased with Fenris’ half-dressed body lying next to the entirely undressed one of ‘Accipiter’. Between the two of them, they managed to get Hawke and Fenris covered. “Don’t be tryin’ anything, elf.”

Fenris shivered at the cold press of Hawke’s skin against his chest. At the other man’s words, he had to bite his tongue to keep the completely inappropriate laugh, its very existence a shock of the first order, from spilling past his lips. “If you had even the slightest idea about me, you’d realize being pinned between the Abomination and Hawke is likely the last place I’d ‘try’ anything.”

“Best to keep it that way.” The guard gave him a menacing scowl before turning from the bed and leaving the room. 

The elder Feddic returned shortly thereafter, Orana trailing in his wake. He brought more firewood, while the woman carried the tray. 

“Orana, please stay. I can’t drip water into Hawke from here and I can’t get her warm from there.”

The other elf nodded and pulled a chair close to the bed before gathering a wooden serving table from beside the wardrobe. Fenris shuddered beneath the cover and slid further down the mattress, forcing himself not to think about the naked flesh pressed to him as he wrapped both arms around Hawke and pulled the woman closer to his heat.

She murmured and moved, trying to turn on her side it seemed, so Fenris helped, shifting both their bodies until, finally, she lay curled in front of him, her back to his front, one of his arms wrapped around the front of her chest, above her breasts, the other around her abdomen, just below the ribs.

“Sirrah Fenris, what about the healer? His skin seems quite pale.”

He gritted his teeth. The very idea of any more of Anders’ body touching Fenris disturbed him greatly, nearly more than his insane urge to comfort the unconscious man when they’d been in the library. “ _Fasta vass_. Remove his boots and robes, as long as he’s clothed beneath. Cover him with more blankets.”

Orana rose from the chair, stepping from Fenris’ sight. He listened as the two worked to strip the mage behind him, felt the bed sheets tug beneath him as they adjusted the ex-Warden on the bed. It took several minutes, but soon enough, Bodahn waddled around the foot board, Anders robes over one arm, boots in the other. The female elf resumed her seat, folding her hands in her lap.

“I’ll have these cleaned and repaired while I do as you requested.”

Fenris rubbed one palm quickly over Hawke’s upper arm. “Thank you.”

Hawke’s body shivered hard and he tightened his hold, relief making the sound of his breath ragged. If she could shiver, she was warming up. Anders whimpered, his long limbs twitching and Fenris suppressed a growl, reluctantly pulling his arm from Micah’s waist to reach behind him, searching through blankets until his fingers came into contact with the man’s arm.

“Anders, you’re safe.” The man moaned, not a pleasant sound. “Anders, you’re with Hawke, in her home.” Fenris had no idea if the mage could even hear him, had no clue if he was even doing the right thing, and he felt like an idiot for trying, for caring a thing about the damned Abomination at all. The war going on in his head only served to make the pounding behind his eyes stronger.

A memory, one he’d never lost but instead chose not to think about, came unbidden to his mind. 

_A small boy, body contorted with night terrors, whimpering, tears leaking from his tightly squeezed eyes. Mikla, the tiny mageling slave Danarius gave to Fenris after the ritual._ Fenris’ chest ached, as he remembered pulling that tiny, too thin body into his arms, rocking the boy, humming a tuneless song until the dream had passed and the boy had rested peaceful once more.

Another flash, during the ritual, Mikla’s terrified face forced to watch Fenris’ transformation. 

_Danarius’ voice clear. “In time, this could be you, slave.”_

_The boy’s eyes register pure terror and Fenris struggles not to cry out. He’d fought for the right to be the Magister’s slave, his trophy. This was his choice. But to subject a child… No, he would survive, he’d outlive Danarius, and the boy would never have to suffer the ritual._

Anders rolled toward Fenris, a quiver making the big body tremble. The elf tensed when he felt the ex-Warden’s arm come over his own side, but he held still. The hum of the human’s magic pressed against his brands, but with the elf’s body pressed to Hawke, there was no pain. Swallowing back the flare of anger, the push of memories he didn’t want to recall, Fenris pulled his fingers away from Anders arm, settled as it was around his body. 

Instead, he tugged Hawke closer and buried his face in her hair and tried to forget everything, for just a while, tried to imagine himself somewhere else. Somewhere he didn’t have to look at himself, didn’t have to feel anything but anger and isolation. He shuddered then and focused on counting his heartbeat until he was asleep.

* * *

He hadn’t slept long when he felt the firm press of a hand on his shoulder. Fenris opened his eyes, arms tightening instinctively around Hawke. Her body was warm again, her breathing slow and regular, but she didn’t stir.

“Merrill and I are here.” Sebastian’s teal-colored eyes were filled with worry.

He tried to move, only to find his was firmly held in place by a strong, lanky arm. He registered the huff of warm breath stirring the hair on his head and had to physically stop himself from thrashing free of Anders’ hold.

A hot, broad chest, ribs he could feel pressed into his back, the slight friction of hair as the other man breathed. He felt panic well, and Fenris closed his eyes, tried to keep his breathing calm as he spoke. “Please, roll Anders to his back. I ne- have to get up.” He was proud only the slightest shake marred his words.

“Oh, of course.” Merrill’s cheery voice was soft and he felt the bed shift as she did as Fenris asked.

Soon enough, Anders was no longer practically on top of him. “Thank you. Be careful not to touch Hawke while I move.”

Fenris didn’t want to let her go, and not only because he thought her body would start to hurt immediately, but he was too tense, too out of sorts to stay in the bed between the mages. Reluctantly he untangled their limbs, careful to keep the furs fully shielding Hawke’s body as well as trapping his body heat beneath.

Rolling to the other side, he lifted his body over Anders, throat closing as he spanned the man on palms and toes and saw the ex-Warden’s uncovered body. Bile rose, and Fenris scrambled off the bed, staggering backward and into Merrill’s slight form, her cool palms pressing briefly to his back, to steady him.

“It’s quite a lot to process, isn’t it? But don’t feel bad, the first time I saw him without his shirt, I _did_ vomit.”

Fenris wanted to shut his eyes, wanted to unsee the proof he’d denied for years. No, Anders could _not_ have been right, the Circle outside Tevinter could _not_ be as depraved as the Imperium. _No, no, no._

“By the Maker, no. That cannot be from the Circle. What kind of depraved, sadistic, excuse me.” The Prince fled the room, one hand clapped over his mouth. Fenris wished he could do the same.

Carved in Anders chest and abdomen were the words ‘Property of Kinloch Hold’. And that wasn’t the worst of it. The man had suffered prolonged, systemic abuse, his skin testament to all he’d endured. It was no wonder the mage had taken a spirit into his body. Fenris could no longer question Anders reasons for hating the Circle as much as he himself loathed the Imperium.

“It’s worse on his back and legs. They branded the word ‘whore’ at the top of his buttocks.” Merrill moved forward, past Fenris, to stand beside the bed, her long elven fingers threading through hair unbound from its usual ponytail. “He’s only been sent to Sleep. I’d guess Hawke did that before she separated Anders and Justice. She was protecting him from the trauma.”

“What?” Fenris’ voice broke and he prayed the Dalish woman wouldn’t turn around and see the tears he kept from falling only with the Maker’s strength.

“She sent Justice back to the Fade. He’s no longer inside Anders. Oh, and she healed his aura, there’s no stain of darkness on his mage-spirit any more. He’ll be so angry, my Anders, but she did a good thing.”

Fenris didn’t know what took him aback more, the revelation of what Hawke had done, or Merrill calling Anders ‘hers’. “You… and Anders? But, I thought – Isabela-“ He stopped talking and shook his head.

Merrill leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Anders forehead, before pulling back and smoothing the fingers of her left hand down the side of his face to his chest. “Well, I suppose I could say ‘our’, but Isabela is so touchy about feelings and I wouldn’t want to presume. Besides, they both wanted to keep it all secret, though I don’t see why.”

Fenris really had no idea what to say. 

His gaze flickered back to the sleeping human’s body and disgust rolled through him. The man didn’t look as if he’d known much kindness, and if both women choose to offer him that and more, then Fenris would be no better than Anders had ever accused him of being if the elf thought it ‘right’ to deny the mage anything.

“I love him so, though. And I’m very glad Hawke fixed him. He made me promise, if he really became an abomination, you know. That I’d kill him or Isabela would. We knew he was getting worse, we’ve seen less and less of Anders, but I couldn’t do it. I don’t think she could either.”

A month ago, Fenris would have, gladly. A week ago, even, without a pang of regret and safe in the knowledge he’d rid the world of another power hungry, viperous wretch of a mage. The words on Anders’ chest mocked him, and Fenris gagged against the bile. He shut his eyes and finally turned away, eyes squeezed closed, panting through his mouth. 

“It’ll be alright, Fenris. It isn’t easy to have our truths so harshly destroyed. I know this better than most.” The depth of sadness in Merrill’s voice didn’t ease the awful bleakness in him.

She was right, of course. The last thing Hawke had done before she’d disappeared had been to accompany the Dalish to Sundermount so the blood-mage could contact her demon about the damn mirror she’d been obsessed with for years. Only to find out her Keeper had taken the thing into her own body in order to protect the one who had been her First from the folly of the endeavor.

He, Anders, and Hawke had watched Merrill bury the blade in Marethari’s chest, destroying the demon, and the one person who loved Merrill enough to sacrifice herself so the blood-mage could be free. That thought stirred something terrible in its glory, deep inside Fenris. Marethari had loved Merrill more than the clan, more than her life, had gladly paid the price for Merrill’s transgressions. Fenris couldn’t breathe, for a moment, but it passed as he recalled the rest of their trip.

In the aftermath, while Merrill had keened over the still body of a woman she’d thought of like a mother, he and Anders had, in a rare moment of unity, agreed the world was a lesser place without Keeper Marethari in it, and darker for Merrill’s continued existence. He, especially, had given the Dalish woman no sympathy, had not even thought to offer comfort at all, instead he’d been disgusted with her, more than ever.

How could she be so kind to him, then? Maker, he’d been vile to Merrill afterward, grinding home his hatred and contempt for her time and again. He’d said such hateful things –“Why are you being kind? I do not deserve it.” He couldn’t bear to look at her.

Merrill sighed. “Fenris, everyone deserves compassion. Even you. And some of what you said was right, though you could have found a nicer way to say it. I’ve changed in the past year. I’m a different person. I’ve accepted my mistakes, begged the Creators forgiveness, and with Anders and Isabela, I’ve tried to move forward, to do better, to be better.”

“You were never bad, love. Just misguided.” Anders voice was weak, but steady.

“Anders!” Merrill flew to his side, climbing half on the bed and into his arms. “I’m so glad you’re awake. Are you alright, do you feel alright?” 

Her words came a mile a minute and Fenris wiped at his face surreptitiously while the two embraced. It was obvious they cared a great deal for each other.

“Justice is gone.”

“I know. Hawke did it. I don’t know how. But she’s very sick, Anders, it looks like lyrium poisoning.”

Fenris jerked as if he’d been struck. “What? That’s not possible.” He rushed to the other side of the bed, hand going beneath the furs to take hold of hers. 

Anders sat up, releasing Merrill as he rolled toward Micah. “Let me see her.”

“No!” His reaction was completely overblown, but his brands lit and he grabbed Anders wrist in a forceful hold to stop the man from pulling the furs down.

Anders winced but instead of fighting, he sighed. “I’ll close my eyes, Fenris. I only need to use magic to ‘look’ at her. Would that be okay?”

Fenris let go of the other man and nodded. Once Anders eyes were closed, he drew the blanket away, before reaching for the mage, bringing his palm over the middle of Hawke’s chest. At the first tingle of magic, Fenris pulled back, watching green envelop Anders skin. Slowly, the ex-Warden trekked down Micah’s abdomen, moving left to right until he stilled, over her left side.

“It is lyrium poisoning, but… yes, let me see, alright, there it goes…” 

The peridot light intensified and Fenris had to shield his eyes. The entire thing couldn’t have taken very long, but for the elf it seemed like time slowed near to halting. Finally, Anders sat back and Fenris hurried to cover Hawke again, his hand never releasing hers.

“She’ll be fine. In fact, she was healing on her own, I just sped the process. We’ll have to ask what happened, but I think maybe she was hurt in the Fade and somehow, someone used the lyrium in her brands to knit the flesh. But it’s all back where it’s supposed to be and there’s no seeping, no lasting damage.”

Anders eyes blinked open and he met Fenris’ gaze for a moment, before dropping his chin and looking at his bared skin. The mage tensed, a flush crawling up his neck. “Well, this certainly isn’t how I wanted to prove my point about the Circle.”

Fenris turned his face away and swallowed thickly. It certainly wasn’t how he’d have liked to have his illusions destroyed either. Words, so many words, filled his throat, but Fenris couldn’t force them past his lips.

“Anders, you’re awake.” Sebastian’s voice was unsteady and when Fenris looked at the prince, he noticed the maybe-brother’s gaze was fixed on his feet.

“I am. And without rider, much to everyone’s relief, I’m sure.” 

Tension built in the room, but Orana, thankfully, brought Anders robes and boots after a few minutes. Once the ex-Warden was fully garbed, everyone relaxed a bit. Until Orana asked if Fenris wanted his chest piece back, that was.

He smiled faintly and looked down at Hawke’s sleeping face. All this time, he hadn’t even realized how much of his own flesh was on display. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No.” He changed his hold on Micah, interlacing their fingers. “But I will take a chair and one of the Aggregios.”

There was an uncomfortable pause when Anders was the one who moved the chair closer to the bed. The two men looked at each other, both of them maybe wanting to say something, but not knowing where to start, or if they should even bother. Finally, Fenris snorted and sat, which drew a soft chuckle from Anders.

“Yes, well, there’s that.” 

The elf looked up at the mage who’d been the stand-in for Danarius, in many ways, for Fenris’ rage over the last seven years and clenched his jaw in order to force the spit down his throat. “You may be right about the Circle.”

He expected Anders brows to fly off his face in shock, wouldn’t have been surprised if the ex-Warden immediately crowed over the concession. Instead, Anders eyes drifted to Hawke, then back to Fenris’. 

“You may be right about some mages.”

It was as close as either could come to an apology and both men accepted the other’s words for what they were. There was no way they could possibly erase seven years of acrimony and loathing with a few words, but it was a start.

“Anders, I’d like to offer my aid, in the clinic. If you’ll have me.” Sebastian shifted from one foot to the other.

The mage looked at Merrill, who gave him a smile and a nod. Anders huffed, but a smile played at the corners of his lips and eyes. “The more the merrier, right? Listen, Fenris, she should wake up shortly.”

He grimaced. “Not too soon, I think. She hasn’t likely slept in three days.” Fenris didn’t explain further, instead he turned at the touch of glass against his arm, and flashed Orana a grateful look as he took the wineglass from her hand. “As soon as she’s alert, I’ll have Bodahn send messages to everyone.”

 

Chapter Four

Sebastian parted from Merrill and Anders in Hightown, promising to be at the clinic by eighth bell the following morning. Anders was glad; he was still a bit unsteady on his feet, metaphorically, now that he was alone in his skin.

“Are you sure you’re alright, Anders?” Merrill had refused to let go of his hand as they’d left Hawke’s estate and he no longer had any reason to try and pull away. Justice was gone, back to the Fade he never should have been forced from in the first place.

“It’s strange, after having him in my head for so long. But yes, love, I’m fine. Actually, I’m better than fine. Micah, somehow, she cleansed me. Oh, don’t worry, I still hate the Circle and all it stands for, but my thoughts aren’t clouded with vengeance.”

“Before Sebastian woke Fenris, I spoke with Orana. She said Hawke was furious when she returned home this afternoon. She was crying and screaming. Orana was frightened, she said Micah yelled she’d ‘kill her, wipe her from the face of Thedas’. I had to assure the poor woman Hawke hadn’t meant Orana.”

Anders cursed himself. “It’s my fault. I told her, but I didn’t think… After what she did to Evelina, I convinced Micah to go to the Gallows with me. I wanted her to talk to Orsino, see if he could explain what she’d done.”

“So that’s where you were off to. But, wait, oh no, all the Tranquil. Anders that was a very bad idea.”

He nodded and squeezed her fingers. “I realized that when she ran from the Gallows as if the blighted Archdemon were on her heels. In fact, I’d been on my way to Hightown when her guards found me and told me she wanted to speak with me.”

Merrill pulled him to a stop in the middle of the Lowtown stairs leading to the Alienage. “Anders, do you think she meant… Meredith?” The last word was whispered so low, the ex-Warden wasn’t sure if the woman actually said it aloud or if he simply supplied it from his own thoughts.

He nodded, closing his eyes briefly as his, Justice’s, maybe their plan flashed through his mind. “Yes. Fuck, Merrill, I have something to tell you and Hawke too, I think. Neither of you are going to be very happy with me.”

His Dalish lover pulled him close, winding her hand behind his neck to bring his mouth to hers. She kissed him, love and affection in equal measure. “You’ve seen the very worst of me Anders, and you still care. I promise to do the same.”

Smiling, he looked into eyes so green they never failed to steal his breath. He pulled away from her hands, only to sweep her tiny body into his arms. She giggled and blushed as he strode the rest of the way to her tiny apartment. “I don’t know how it happened, but I thank the Maker every day for you, Merrill.”

She sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. “And I, Mythal. I love you, Anders. And Isabela too.”

He chuckled as he pushed the door to her home wide. “I love you too. But maybe we won’t tell Isabela, for a bit. She gets right prickly when the ‘l’ word pops up.”

Merrill’s sweet laughter filled the air as they retired inside.

* * *

“How long have I been asleep?” Micah crawled her way from the furs, not even bothering to open her eyes. The lack of pain and the thread of fingers between her own told her Fenris was yet again at her side.

“A little more than half a day.” His voice, as it ever had, plucked at the strings of desire like a prodigy.

“Really, there has to be a better way. I can’t just fall into a coma for days at a time.”

“I can’t offer any solution, yet. After a year, I could at least sleep several hours without the pain waking me.”

“You were also a trained warrior. You know, all strong and hard and disciplined to ignore pain. I’m a fragile mage, so easily breakable.” She tried for sarcasm, but even to her own ears, the sharp ring of truth stung.

“Would you be surprised to learn I was not, in fact, a warrior before the ritual?”

She pulled the blanket down far enough to clearly see Fenris’ face. “You weren’t?”

There was that grin, Maker, he was killing her. “No. I was a rogue, dual-wielding. Afterward, Danarius had me retrained, of course. My quickness and agility, paired with the enhanced strength of the brands, have made me an excellent warrior, though.”

She smiled. “I’ll say. The first time I saw you swinging that monolith you call a sword around, all I could think was that it was longer than you were tall!”

“Indeed.” His eyes lit with humor and Hawke bit her lip to stop from sighing like some love-addled idiot.

“I tried to pick one of your swords up, once. It was after that first fight with the Tal-Vashoth. Do you remember?”

“Ah, yes. I’d been knocked unconscious, as I recall.”

“Yeah, two-handed axe to the noggin will do that. Anyway, we were all just trying to get everything rounded around and Aveline says, ‘Hawke, fetch Fenris’ sword.’ I remember thinking no worries; after all, you’re no bigger than I am. I couldn’t even get half of it off the ground.”

He huffed, and the exhalation became a chuckle. “Not even half?” One dark brow arched.

She shook her head, her whole body buzzing with excitement, and not just the sexual kind. She couldn’t recall a single exchange with Fenris where he’d laughed at all, let alone… teased her. She couldn’t have spoken if she tried then.

“Let me guess, then. Aveline huffed at your struggle and charged over to gather the weapon. No doubt swinging it about as if it weighed no more than a feather.”

Micah laughed. That was, indeed, exactly what had happened. “Are you sure you don’t remember?”

“No, but our guard-captain is a formidable woman. Have you seen the way she throws those massive shields around?”

“Seen? I’ve bounced off them a time or two. Like being hit head on by a bronto.”

“I’ll take your word for it, Micah.”

They both froze. The sound of her name, spoken aloud for the first time, on his lips was louder in the sudden silence than the tolling of the Chantry’s bells. Instinctively, her fingers clenched, tightening her grip. She’d forgotten, for a moment, and instead of curling her fingers into her palm, which is what she’d have done if they weren’t touching, it seemed as if she was clutching him, silently begging him not to pull away. 

She’d have fisted her hands to keep from doing exactly something as stupid as that, showing Fenris how very much power he held over her. Hawke closed her eyes and relaxed her fingers, pulling back as best she could, trying to protect herself for the inevitable spite he’d surely give her. It was a well-traveled road, this, but that didn’t mean she wandered it gladly.

“I should get up. Would you send Orana in?” She rolled away from him, breath catching when his hand slid, clearly reluctant, from hers.

“What do you want from me, Hawke?” His voice was terribly soft, like he hadn’t wanted to ask, but something forced him to do so.

She didn’t turn around. “You’re help, if you still want to give it. Nothing more.” Her reply was equally low, more because the words were a horrible lie, but one she’d forever give him, if only to spare him – more than herself – the pain of the truth.

“I do.”

“Then once I’m dressed, we should try to figure out a few things.” She swallowed hard and shifted to a sitting position, gathering her bearings. “I’d like to eat in the garden. You can join me, if you like.”

“I’ll tell Bodahn.” 

Her ears strained as she heard him walk away, leave the room. It took several minutes of careful breathing for Micah to stop shaking. Coming back to Kirkwall was proving more stressful, more bodily and emotionally taxing, than almost a year in Tevinter and all that went part and parcel to that time.

Orana came in, took one look at Micah’s face, and rushed to her side, hands flailing as the elf clearly wanted to offer physical comfort but knew she couldn’t. “Did he hurt you, Mistress?”

Hawke shook her head, torn between tears and laughter at her pathetic self. “He used my given name.”

Orana looked angry, then confused, until Micah’s meaning became clear. The look of sympathy in her eyes, so like his, almost broke Hawke. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I wish I could be better help, in this.”

Micah managed a weak smile. “I can always use a friend, Orana.”

“I can do that, Mistress.”

Hawke sighed and pushed free of the furs. “How about a bath and clothes – the deep violet tunic and pants, I think. Then I’m going to the garden.”

Orana hurried off to put her Mistress’ order in motion and Hawke stood. She stretched, winced, then stretched again. There was so much she had to accomplish, now, and her time was running short. In the last two days, she’d learned how to use one aspect of her new talents, but she knew there was still too much she didn’t understand. 

She looked at herself, the price of her decision heavy in her mind. All that remained was to find out whether or not it had really been worth what she’d paid.

* * *

Hawke pushed her plate away and sat back in the chair. Fenris struggled to keep his eyes on her face, and seemed to be winning the internal battle only slightly more than half the time.

She’d dressed in a deep purple outfit, the material so thin, and tailored so close to her body, it left almost nothing to the imagination. Not that it mattered. Her nude form was imprinted in his memory. Still, he found the hint of her nipples, her lyrium-veined sex, things silhouetted by her attire though not revealed, painfully arousing.

Turning his attention, for the hundredth time, back to their conversation he huffed a question. “Then how did you leap into Anders?”

She shot him a glare. “That was more an accident, than any true understanding. When we were fighting Evelina, one of the blood-mages Meredith sent me after, I don’t know, I phased into her, expecting to blow her apart from the inside, like I did to those soldiers in Tevinter. But it was like the brands… took over. The next thing I knew, the demon that had been in her, and I, were in the Fade.”

Fenris had no comprehension of how that particular skill of hers worked, but he did understand the instinctive impetus of the brands. “That’s how I discovered I could put my fist into someone. It wasn’t something Danarius taught me, it just happened. Once it did, my ex-master made me repeat the situation over and over and over until I could do it at will.”

“Repeating it was easier for me, maybe because I’m a mage and I paid attention to the details carefully, both after I destroyed the demon and when I repaired the Veil tear, and when I pulled all remnants of corrupted essence from Evelina. Anders was a test, an opportunity for me to repeat the process of my own volition. And it worked, which is progress, but not enough.”

“It will take time, Hawke.” 

She slammed her palms to the table. “I don’t have _time_ , Fenris! There are things I must deal with before I’m forced back to the Imperium. I need some bloody control _now_ , not years from now!”

Micah jumped up from her chair and paced several feet away, stopping with her hands on her hips and shoulders hunched. Fenris cursed himself for yet again miss-stepping with the woman. He searched his memory, tried to find some piece of information, some bit of training he could give to her, use to help her.

He looked at her, a strong woman at the end of her patience and knew he had to _try_ something. Glancing down at his own brands, he called them to life and finally, a thought took shape. He didn’t know if it would work, but even if it didn’t, it would provide them with more information.

“Hawke, I have an idea.” Fenris made his way to her side.

“I’ll hear any suggestions.”

“When you ghosted into me, what do you remember?”

“Quiet, stillness, an utter lack of pain.” She didn’t look at him when she answered.

“How long can you hold that form?”

“I don’t know. Not long, I don’t think.”

“I want you to do it again, but this time, I’ll ignite the tattoos when you’re inside me. Perhaps you’ll be able to sense what happens. If you don’t, well, then we’ll know something new. Either way, really.”

She finally turned to face him, worry puckering her lovely brow. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I couldn’t be-I don’t want to fuck about with your life. If something went wrong-“

“You had less idea how to use your talents when you did this the first time. I trust you, Hawke.”

He frowned when she closed her eyes and a look not unlike pain passed over her features. She didn’t say anything for long enough that Fenris shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Finally, with a loud, frustrated sigh, she squared her shoulders and turned those blue eyes on him.

“Damn it, I don’t want to do this. But I have to try something. If you feel like it’s going wrong, Fenris, get away from me. I know you can Fade shift too, not as fully as I can, but still. Don’t let me hurt you because you think I need more time. Swear it.”

He had to hide the way his body sagged with relief at her agreement. “You have my word.”

“Are you ready?”

He smirked and she gave him a small smile in return. There wasn’t any way to be prepared for a lyrium ghost to slip into one’s physical form. His body responded when her skin lit up, every filigreed line burning blue-white, until her brilliance was blinding. Then, she stepped into him and everything around them disappeared.

He could feel her, inside his skin, inside his head, and Fenris tried to define where elf stopped and human began, but he couldn’t find any space between them. It was disconcerting, but wonderful, at the same time. It was also distracting, and though he longed to simply exist in this near-perfect place, he needed to focus. Concentrating hard, he found the spot where his powers were born, and pulled the energy outward, bringing the lyrium veins on his skin to life.

Caught in the in-between as they were, he sensed her curiosity, seeking the source much as he had. Though he had no sense of sight, he could imagine her bending over the place, brow furrowed as she puzzled out how it worked, what he’d done. He felt light, amused at the image his mind created. 

Surprisingly, he felt a surge of pique from Hawke, followed quickly by a spike of panic in his own chest. Had she seen what he’d thought? Could she see everything? Trepidation flooded him and he felt Hawke shift and then they were two, apart and individual.

“Did I hurt you, Fenris? Are you alright?” She reached out to touch him, but drew her hand back before making contact.

“No, I’m fine. Why did you stop?” He watched her hands curl at her sides and didn’t understand why seeing that distressed him so.

“You got scared. I thought I was causing you harm.”

“You got mad.”

“Only because you were making fun of me.” She blushed. “And I wasn’t really mad, just a bit irritated.”

“I didn’t make fun of you.”

“You did, I could tell. You were projecting humor at me.”

Fenris looked at the ground. So she hadn’t seen his thoughts, or heard them, merely felt what he’d felt. Distressing, yes, but not nearly as bad as he’d been afraid it would be. “It was more… teasing. I imagined you looking as you do when you’re contemplating a particularly difficult quandary. The way your eyes squint and you worry your lower lip. I thought of you bent close down, studying how my power worked. It… amused me.”

“Oh. Well.” She didn’t say anything else, but he watched her fists tighten and he had to know.

Reaching out, he took her tightly furled hand in his. “Why do you do this? Do you want to hit me? You do it all the time.”

She tried to pull away, but he held tight, lifting his face to look at her. Her cheeks were bright with heat, her lower lip held tight between her teeth. When she released it, the dark pink flesh was swollen and a little wet. “I don’t think you want to hear the answer. But I swear, I don’t want to hit you.”

He cocked his head. He didn’t believe her. “Don’t lie, Hawke. You’ve been doing this,” he tightened his hold on her fist, “for seven years. Practically since we met. I understand, the way I’ve acted, if I’d been you-“

She jerked free of him and suddenly her fingers were on his brow, pushing his bangs from his face, tucking them to the side, the warm skin of her digits tracing over the upper edge of his ear. “That’s why, Fenris.” Her voice was hoarse as she jerked her hand back to her side, tightly curled once more.

His shock must have been written on his face, because she gave him a sad smile before she walked away, leaving him to stare after her, feet rooted to the ground, heart beating faster than the wings of a hummingbird. She’d been fighting the urge to _touch_ him, to move his hair so she could see his face… for seven years.


	5. Part V: Changing Tides

Chapter One

“It’s official, Bianca. I’ve finally heard it all.” Varric stroked the stock of his crossbow and shot Micah a look, brows raised just _so_ but mouth pressed in a thin line. His expression spoke more clearly than words and it said, “Hawke, you’ve got stones the size of a golem, but absolutely no sense.”

She huffed and took a drink of only slightly-less-piss-warm-than-usual ale. “Why? Anders has said the same thing a thousand times.”

The mage snorted from across the table in the dwarf’s suite. “More than that, I’d wager.”

“What exactly would you wager, Sparklefingers?” Isabela flicked her tongue against her upper lip, brows wiggling suggestively.

The ex-warden laughed and leaned into her. “Hmm, how about a spanking and another lesson in lightning?”

“Ooh, you’re naughty. I like it.”

Micah groaned at the two of them. “Focus, people. We _are_ talking about treason against Chantry.”

“You know, I liked it better when we just stuck to sedition.” The story teller lamented before emptying his mug.

“Hawke, I shouldn’t even be here, listening to this.” Aveline was irritated, and frankly had every right to be, but even she agreed something had to be done about Knight-Commander Meredith.

Micah ran a palm over her face and sat back. “I’m not suggesting we do anything right now, beyond getting a feel for the lay of the land, as it were. I’ll speak with Cullen; ask him if he’s noticed any changes in his superior. Anders can do what he’s been doing; continue to get mages out of those damned Gallows.”

“I help, you know. Bela too.”

Isabela put her arm around Merrill’s shoulders and pulled the smaller woman in for a quick squeeze. “She knows, kitten.”

Merrill dipped her head, smiling shyly. “Oh, well, then. Don’t mind me.”

Hawke chuckled. “It’s fine, Merrill. And yes, I meant the three of you. Varric, there isn’t really anyone better at ferreting out juicy information than you. Once I have a better idea what's really going on in the Gallows, which side the people inside are truly loyal to, I’ll take the next step.”

“And what, exactly, would that be?” Ander leaned forward, face serious.

She lifted a brow at him. “Well, not _your_ original plan.”

In the three weeks since she’d forced Justice back into the Fade, Anders had come to her estate several times and slowly, he’d revealed how far Vengeance had been willing to go to see the end of the Circle. Hawke had been furious with him, nearly distraught at the thought of how many innocent people would have died. While she found Grand Cleric Elthina to be hopelessly optimistic, and almost painfully devout, she would never have agreed to the woman’s assassination simply to eliminate the ‘chance of compromise’.

Anders swallowed hard and looked down at the table. Micah sighed. Just thinking about what the man across from her had nearly done still got her blood hot. “I don’t know, exactly. But I do know Meredith cannot remain Knight-Commander. I’d like to deal with the rising tension between her and Orsino right now, but I can’t. I’m trying to avoid out-right war. If I act without thinking, that’s exactly what I’ll get for my haste.

“I’ll only be in Kirkwall for another four weeks, at best. Bela’s sure she can get me back to the Imperium with time to spare so long as I leave by then.”

“You better believe it, sweet cheeks. Especially with my _Lovely_ sanded and primed to cut through the sea smooth as silk.”

“I still can’t believe you bought Rivaini a frigate, Hawke.” Varric chuckled.

“Why not? Seems perfectly appropriate, considering how much _frig_ ating she does.” Aveline sent the pirate a sneer and the entire table erupted in raucous laughter.

“Ooh, Lady Man-Hands _can_ throw a dagger!” Isabela made a kissy face at Aveline, which the guard-captain ignored.

“I missed something important then?”

The room fell into total silence the minute Fenris spoke. To his credit, the elf only lifted a brow. “Was it about me?”

“No. We weren’t talking about you, Fenris.” Micah ground her teeth. She’d hoped the damn elf would have gone to her estate and waited for her to return. “Aveline actually made a rather hilarious joke. You surprised us, that’s all.” She kept the blush from her face, but couldn’t look him in the eye as she replied. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

He merely hummed a non-committal sound. “Bodahn told me you were here.”

Hawke squeezed her eyes closed and grimaced. Of course the manservant would send Fenris to fetch her. It was, after all, Wednesday, time for her to get a solid’s night sleep. She growled under her breath and tried to beat back her anger. She’d managed to survive just fine on a bare three, separate, hours of sleep a day for nearly a year in Tevinter.

But since they’d discovered she could get restorative rest, so long as Fenris touched her, everyone, and Micah did mean everyone, decided she needed a schedule of elf time. Three weeks of seeing Fenris twice each seven day period, starting the day after the ‘other incident’ in her garden. She sighed and pushed back from the table, determined not to think about _that_ any more than she would ‘the incident’ that preceded it. Danger lay down those roads.

“Nighty, night, Hawke. Sweet dreams.” Isabela’s voice was filled with carnal innuendo and Micah glowered at the woman.

“Same time tomorrow?” Anders nudged Bela, his own face disapproving.

“Sure. Maybe we can actually play Wicked Grace.” Micah gave a small wave before ducking around Fenris and heading out of the tavern.

The Kirkwall night was crisp, but spring was well on its way and soon enough the evenings would turn muggy. She looked up at the moons and wondered how Mikla was, if things were still quiet. She hadn’t met him in the Fade for almost a week, not long enough to worry her, but long enough for her to miss the boy.

“You’re upset with me for disrupting your evening.”

Damn it, he was doing it again. Ever since she’d touched him in the garden, Fenris was constantly blaming himself for the sour turns of her mood. He’d apologize over trivial things. He talked with her, sought her out simply to, it seemed, be with her. He was driving her insane and she was too much a coward to ask him what was going on. She laughed at herself, she’d even tried to see if he was possessed, so befuddled was she by his actions.

Yet again, the opportunity presented itself for her to ask why he was being, frankly, friendly to her, but she couldn’t find the courage to demand a response. The irony wasn’t lost on her, no, she’d longed for just that, since she couldn’t imagine finding anything more. Now that the elf appeared to be trying to create a friendship between them, she was suspicious. Funneling her hands into her hair, she tried not to groan her frustration aloud.

“I’m not upset with you, Fenris. Would you, please, stop that!” There was a twinge of irritation in her voice, but she was proud she managed to keep her tone mostly level.

“Stop what?”

“Stop thinking you’re the cause of everything that puts me in an off mood. You aren’t, alright.”

“I’m so-“

“No, shut up! No more apologizing either. You’ve done nothing to be sorry for, Fenris.” Sighing loudly, she dropped her hands from her head. “I can’t take it anymore.” Her shoulders slumped and she turned to face him. “Why… what… Fenris, you’re starting to worry me. Is there something I should know?”

He dipped his head, the fringe of his snow-white hair obscuring his face and she curled her hands into fists. Damn it, she knew if he looked, he’d see and know, now, why she did it, but Micah couldn’t stop the reaction. He’d been right; she’d been doing it for so long it was no longer a conscious act, but a reflex.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about, Hawke. I shall endeavor to give no more offense.”

 _Ooh, that’s it!_ Micah stomped her feet in frustration and spun around with a choked screech. “Blighted… frustrating… beautiful... perfect… elf.” She grumbled the broken words beneath her breath as she charged away from him. It was a damn good thing she was going home to bed. At least when she was sleeping, she didn’t have to fight herself and Fenris too.

* * *

Fenris didn’t look up until Hawke was several feet from him, starting down the stairs from the Hanged Man. Her words carried on the wind and he didn’t know what to make of the snippets he heard. _Blighted… frustrating… beautiful… perfect… elf._ He was obviously missing some of her ramblings, but his head spun at what he picked up.

Hawke thought him beautiful? Perfect? _Blighted frustrating, too_ his inner voice happily supplied. He’d been standing in place too long and as she disappeared from view he hurried to catch up with her. When he was close enough to reach out and touch her, he slowed his pace, alert for danger but letting his thoughts wander.

She’d asked him if something was wrong and he’d told her he was fine. But he wasn’t, not really. He’d been trying, the best he knew how, to befriend the mage over the last few weeks. Based on her reaction tonight, though, he thought maybe he was going about it all wrong. Fenris cursed his ignorance for not the first time. He thought spending time with her, talking or reading, being courteous, looking out for her well-being, he had believed those were things a friend did.

Perhaps he should ask one of his other companions what he was doing wrong. It galled him to admit it, but after the garden, Fenris had decided Hawke, the mage who’d been at his side any time he’d called, and some when he hadn’t, deserved at least his friendship. By the Maker, she’d held herself back from even touching him because she knew he was unaccustomed to it and disliked it, because she’d wanted to be his _friend_. 

So often, he’d finally realized, she’d held out a hand to him in camaraderie, and his reaction had been to snap at her. No longer, it was long past time for Fenris to stop hiding behind fear and hate, and begin to live. To embrace the freedom Hawke had won for him at no small cost to herself.

As they neared her estate he wondered who to ask about making friends and decided on Sebastian first, but then, the longer he thought, the more he realized Anders was likely a better choice. Of the entire group, the ex-Warden had a better understanding of where Fenris was coming from than anyone. 

Though tentative, he and the mage had built cautious bridges in the last few weeks. And while neither of them ever expected to find common ground, despite how often everyone else told them they did, indeed, have many similarities, Fenris at least (though Anders had said the same) felt good about the respect growing between them.

Hawke pulled the door to her home open, nodding to Wilson as she passed by him. Fenris blinked. He hadn’t realized they’d arrived. 

The guard titled his head and Fenris reciprocated. Her guards weren’t happy, but ‘Accipiter’ had finally put her foot down last week and refused to allow them to follow her around the city any time she left the estate. She’d made it clear she was rarely out and about after dark, and then never completely alone, and the men had agreed the magisters were unlikely to attempt an attack in broad daylight.

“Mistress Accipiter.”

“Wilson. How was your evening?” She gave the man a warm smile.

“Quiet, as usual. Orana made a delicious roast duck for supper.” He grinned and passed a gauntleted hand over his equally well-armored stomach.

She laughed and it made Fenris feel warm all over.

“Sounds fabulous, I hope you and Matheson left some for the elf and I.”

“Just enough, I’d say.”

The knight held the interior door for them and Hawke bid the younger man a good night. Fenris handed Orana his arm guards, before unbuckling his sword and placing it on the weapons rack next to the entry fire. Hawke, too, began to disrobe and Fenris kept his back turned. She’d implemented this ritual just over a fortnight ago and it seemed she wasn’t inclined to change it. 

She wore her armor whenever she left the estate, but as soon as she returned, she stripped as quickly as possible, putting on the close-fitted silk clothes from Tevinter. Those she’d wear for no more than a few hours, before she was forced to free herself from the exceptionally soft fabrics. Everyone knew, if they visited Hawke after seventh evening bell, she’d likely be naked. Needless to say, most of her male companions made sure not to drop in late.

Fenris normally arrived deep into the evening on Wednesday and Saturday, and Hawke would be abed, reading or talking with Orana. He knew she was unclothed, but he hadn’t seen her in such a state since that day in the library. It bothered him, actually he found it made him quite cross, when he thought about how often her guards, and her staff, likely saw her bare flesh, when he did not. 

So he tried not to think about it, with varying degrees of success.

Following the gentle sway of her hips into the kitchen, he gratefully accepted the dish Bodahn passed him as they settled at the table. The two of them sat near the door to the garden and dug into their food with relish. Orana had outdone herself this night. The duck was moist, succulent, its normally gamey tang washed away with the elf woman’s delicate choice of spices and herbs.

He took a long drink of his wine, the Aggregio never failing to please his palate. Hawke, he noticed, drank water more often than not. Setting his glass down, he frowned softly. “Why do you keep Aggregio on hand if you don’t drink it?”

Hawke choked on a bit of winter squash, quickly grabbing her glass and taking a drink to clear her throat. She gave him the queerest look, one Fenris was sure he’d never seen before, but didn’t answer him. Instead she replaced her glass and went back to eating.

He quirked a brow. “You’re ignoring me now?”

He watched her jaw clench, saw her take a slow breath and blink very slowly, before setting her fork down and sitting back in her seat. “Fenris, why do you care that I have Aggregio in the wine cellar?”

He shrugged. “I was merely curious. You rarely imbibe.”

“A good host still has wine ready, whether or not she drinks it often.”

“Of course, but there are several local vintners you could buy from, with wines equally as good, at much less cost. But Orana told me all you have is Aggregio Pavali.”

“Fenris-“

Whatever Hawke might have said was cut off by Orana. “Mistress, would you like desert?” The female took Fenris’ empty plate and Hawke motioned for the elf to remove hers as well.

“What delight did you make this time, Orana?”

“A light raspberry and cream custard, Mistress.”

Hawke hummed deep in her throat. “Oh, yes, that sounds scrumptious. Fenris?”

He looked into her blue eyes and allowed the subject of wine to drop, despite the fact that his instincts told him he shouldn’t. “Of course.”

When Orana returned with bowls for each of them, Fenris tucked into the sweet, but watched Hawke. She ate with zeal, eyes closed, a smile on her lips, utterly elated by the simple treat. When the last spoonful disappeared into her mouth, her eyes fluttered open and she realized he’d been watching her.

Her cheeks pinkened and she swiped her tongue over her lower lip, unconsciously seeking out any remnants of sugar. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

Fenris fought not to shift in his chair. He wasn’t about to tell Micah he’d never wanted to be a custard so badly in his life and not just because he was fairly certain she’d become apoplectic. No, he was damned sure his skin would turn permanently red as well. 

Moreover, though Fenris was now well aware of the sexual tension that vibrated between them, he wasn’t sure exactly what it meant, or even if Hawke was comfortable with feeling as she did in the first place. After all, he’d never given her reason to like him and bedding an enemy wasn’t something he’d ever enjoyed, whether his body responded physically or not.

“You appreciate sweets.” It was obvious and unnecessary to state, but it was all Fenris could think to say.

She flashed him a grin. “I do. I’ve a terrible sweet tooth. Are you going to finish yours?”

The elf shook his head and handed her his bowl, spoon and all. Then she went and did something Fenris was sure his mind would be replaying for days: she ate off the utensil he’d had in his own mouth a few brief moments before. He blindly reached for his wine glass and tipped his head while he drained its contents.

Thankfully, the custard disappeared quickly and sated, Micah stood from the table, _shooshing_ Orana when the woman made to wash the dishes. “Leave them, Orana. I’ll clean up in the morning.”

“But Mistress, it will only take a few minutes to do them.”

“Then there’s no reason they can’t wait. Go on, it’s late and I know how much Sandal and Pup enjoy listening to you play before they go to bed.”

“Good night, Mistress.” The servant smiled and bobbed a quick curtsy before hurrying from the kitchen. 

Hawke followed, Fenris right behind her, shaking his head as he was shown, yet again, how very different Micah was from nearly every living person he had ever known. Her kindness seemed to know no bounds, she refused to put on airs or pretend to be anything other than what she was: a once-poor, apostate mage, who helped any who asked, gave whatever she could to those with less, and had no difficulty getting dirty, be it dusting shelves or slaying those who crossed her or threatened the things she thought important.

* * *

“Mistress, thank the Maker you’re here.”

“Mikla, what’s wrong?” Micah hurried to his side, reaching out to take his hands in hers.

“Lieutenant Henley received a missive from the Lantarius’ holding. One of Magister Estwell’s maids came to the estate with news her master has begun to lay plans to take the place by force.”

“You have to be shitting me.” Exasperation colored her tone and she sighed heavily.

Her lack of anxiety and colorful rejoinder did more to ease Mikla, it seemed, than her appearance. “No, Accipiter, I’d never shit you.”

Despite the seriousness of the situation, she laughed. “What did Henley suggest I do?”

“If it were only Estwell, the lieutenant said his men at Lantarius could deal with it. But it seems the magister has brokered some sort of alliance with at least one other magister, a powerful one, though the maid didn’t have a name to offer. Lieutenant Henley hesitated, but finally he decided he needed you to return and assess the situation.”

“Damn it. Why this holding? I don’t recall it being such a prize.”

“It lies in Qarinus, Accipiter, near the port.”

“Ah, I remember it now. That’s one where I permanently removed the slave operation, isn’t it?”

“Yes. The land and buildings are of fine construction, certainly, but it’s the slave tunnels Lantarius had constructed from the docks into the cellars of the main house that are the true gem.”

“That is, of course, if this maid is telling the truth and hasn’t been sent as a distraction. Blighted magisters and their machinations! They just couldn’t let me be, could they?”

“I don’t know what to say, Magister. The Archon was clear. Any who moved against you would have no support from him. I, any Imperial citizen, would think that reason enough not to attempt aggression.”

She shook her head. “Henley is an excellent tactician, so if he wants me there, he has good reason. Fuck. Alright, where should I go? Qarinus or Minrathous?”

“Qarinus, Accipiter. The lieutenant will meet you there.”

“I’ll set sail as soon as possible. How long until the attack?”

“The maid said a fortnight at most.”

“Damn, I’ve no idea how close I’ll be cutting it. Tell Henley to make all necessary preparations and if I’m late, to do whatever he must to hold the invaders off. This Estwell, and his shady conspirator, will rue the day they finally meet me.”

Mikla actually laughed and Micah felt immensely better to hear the sound. 

“The lieutenant said the same thing, Accipiter.” 

 

Chapter Two

Micah jolted upright, jerking free from Fenris and rolling from the bed without a thought to her lack of clothes. The elf too leapt up, though sleep hindered his movements.

She threw open the bedroom door, relieved to see both Wilson and Matheson on duty. “We have to return to the Imperium. Quickly, one of you go to the Hanged Man and find Isabela. I need to know if her ship can be ready today. If not, go to the docks and find a reputable captain who can. We leave for Qarinus by no later than day break, if I have to pilot the ship myself.”

“Yes, Magister.” Both men turned and moved double time to see to her orders.

“You’re going to Qarinus?”

Micah spun around and swept past Fenris, throwing open her wardrobe and pulling out the black armor. “Yes. My holding there is going to be attacked, maybe, probably. Either way, the man in charge of my guards called for me. If Henley says he needs me, he does. He’s an accomplished leader, his men better trained than most armies. He wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

She managed to get the armor over her head, the strip between her legs fastened, before she hurried to get her legs into the boots. She whimpered as her haste caused more friction than normal against her skin. _Damn it, I don’t have time to deal with this blighted pain._ She glanced at the elf and sighed. “It’s not what I want, but it is my responsibility. I appreciate all the help you’ve given me Fenris. At least now I can activate the brands myself.” Their afternoon in the garden hadn’t been all for naught, or embarrassment. 

Being inside Fenris as he’d activated his powers had given her the insight she’d been lacking to put two and two together. She no longer flickered on and off at the faintest incitement, didn’t have to worry about phasing into her ghost form, or worse completely Fade shifting out of the phsyical realm, without any warning. No, she didn’t know the full extent of her lyrium abilities, and no she hadn’t really tried to discover that either. And the pain was still completely uncontrollable, but regardless, the elf had given her a measure of governance over the brands.

“I’m going with you.”

Micah would have fallen on her face if she hadn’t been sitting in a chair. Instead, her hands flew to the arms, holding on for all she was worth. “No. No, Fenris.”

“I am going with you.” He stepped closer to her, dropping to one knee to straighten and fasten her boots.

“Are you out of your mind? You are not going to the Imperium, Fenris!”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Bodahn’s arrival halted his words.

“What do you need done, Messere?”

Micah pushed from the chair, skirting the elf, and moved toward the dwarf. “I know it’s late, or early, but take Pup with you and see how many merchants you can rouse. Plenty of gold should work better than the Chantry bells to bring people round.” Her hands flashed through the air as she spoke, taking the stairs two at a time, her manservant following close behind. “I’ve no idea how long it takes to get to Qarinus from here, but I’ll need dry goods for certain, as well as healing potions and poultices, cloth for bandages and the like, and anything else you can think of, Bodahn.”

“A week, maybe ten days.” Fenris’ voice came low, close to her ear.

She turned her head. “To get to Qarinus?”

He nodded. “As long as the weather remains calm, it should be closer to a week. How long do you have?”

“Mi-,” she stopped herself. She hadn’t had time to tell Fenris about Mikla and now certainly wasn’t appropriate. “Lieutenant Henley said perhaps a fortnight.” 

Bodahn called to the Mabari and the two disappeared out the door. Micah headed into the library. If she were going back to the Imperium, she was taking her father’s staff with her.

“Hawke, I am going with you.”

She grabbed the golden weapon, adorned with a winged woman, and fought the urge to smack Fenris with it. “I said no. That’s the end of it.”

“I am _not_ your slave.” He didn’t shout the words, but he might as well have.

Micah staggered, stumbling to the small newel post to keep her feet. He couldn’t have hurt her more if he’d slapped her. For the first time in their acquaintance, she felt absolute fury directed pointedly at Fenris.

“You _will_ be! The moment we set foot in the Imperium, you’ll be my slave. You signed a blood-oath in _Tevinter_ , Fenris. You swore to be a slave until you die, you ass! I will _not_ allow you to go back there. Ever!”

“You don’t care a fig for the law in Tevinter. You wouldn’t treat me any differently than you do now!”

“Of course I wouldn’t, but others will. Other's will covet you, they'll seek to chain you again and I can’t, I won’t… No, Fenris. Why are you fighting me on this?” She stormed toward him, her brands glowing softly as anger surged through her body. “Is this about your sister? Are you looking to exact some kind of revenge on Ariman, the magister she supposedly worked for?”

“No, damn it, this isn’t about Varania. She is safe, healthy, and happy in Starkhaven.”

“Then why? Why in Andraste’s name are you demanding this?”

Fenris closed his eyes and clenched his teeth and Micah stepped back. When he said nothing, she strode to the cold fireplace and pressed her forehead to the mantle.

“I don’t want you going alone, Hawke.”

She huffed. Of course not, he felt like he owed her something. “I won’t be alone, Fenris. Stop trying to pay back a non-existent debt.”

“It isn’t non-existent, _fasta vass_!” 

His angry retort only re-inflamed her. “I’ve said it is. Shit! You are going to stay in Kirkwall, drink Aggregio, play cards in the Hanged Man, and live you Maker-be-damned life. I’ll be fine, just another couple of magisters more influential.”

“I am going, with or without your permission, Hawke.”

She snapped, Malcolm’s staff forgotten as she flew at Fenris fast enough to surprise them both. Her hands were wrapped around his shoulders and she shook him, physically shook him hard enough to hear the clack of teeth. “No!” The word roared from her.

“Why not?” He shoved against her, teeth bared, yelling just as loudly as she.

“Because I can’t- fuck! I can’t protect you there! It wasn’t just Danarius after you, all those years, you son of a bitch! The entire Imperium wanted a piece of your lyrium-branded hide. What a coup, to capture Magister Danarius’ prized pet! I will not take the chance that one of them will manage to do in Tevinter what they couldn’t do in Kirkwall. I will not _lose_ you!”

“Why do you insist on shielding me, Hawke? I’ve never given you any reason to want to be anything but rid of me!”

She pushed Fenris away from her, releasing him, and turned around. Her heart was in her throat and her body began to shake. She needed calm. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts and come up with a response he wouldn’t be disgusted by, one he wouldn’t hate her for.

“Answer me!”

Her body snapped at his bellow and fury overrode her every instinct. Whirling, she screamed, “Because I love you!”

Fenris’ feet went out from under him. He didn’t just stumble; no he tripped over himself and fell flat on his ass.

“Well, that’s been a long time coming. Didn’t expect him to react that way, though.” Isabela’s voice was dry with amusement, but Hawke didn’t miss the note of concern as well.

She couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, she was completely unable to draw air into her lungs. _No, Maker, I didn’t…_ But she had, she’d proclaimed her feelings for the elf at ear-splitting levels. Slapping both hands over her mouth, Micah Hawke ran past the pirate queen and the stunned elf, bolting for the door, then Hightown, and she didn’t slow until the _Lovely_ was in sight. 

Standing at the edge of the docks, she bent at the waist and emptied the contents of her stomach into the dark water below her. All these years, hiding what she felt, protecting him the only way she knew how, loving him the only way she could and she’d broken the one promise she’d made to herself: to never let Fenris know how she felt. Her feelings were a terrible imposition on a man who’d never had a choice. She’d sworn, unless he gave her some kind of sign that his own feelings were similar first, she wouldn’t burden him with hers.

He wasn’t a thing to possess, but Micah was sure her love would seem that way, and the idea of causing him even the slightest pain was unbearable. Yet in a moment of anger, she’d likely done just that, and she didn’t think she could ever forgive herself. Even if Fenris could.

* * *

Fenris’ world tilted on its axis as he hit the floor. He heard Isabela say something, watched Micah tear from the library with utmost speed, but he couldn’t concentrate past the ringing in his ears, couldn’t see beyond the stars in his eyes.

_”Because I love you!”_

Words spoken in the heat of the moment, but the truth of them was plain to see in the widening of her eyes, the look of utter disbelief on her face. She hadn’t intended to say it, but what was done couldn’t be undone. The last piece of the enigma fell into place.

“How long?” He didn’t turn to look at the Rivaini. He knew she heard him well enough.

“Years, Fenris. How is it, do you think, that you managed to live in that rundown shack without bother? How do you think she knew about Danarius and your sister before you did? ”

“I didn’t know, I don’t… Why?” He cursed himself. _Why, why, why_ he sounded like a petulant child.

“You’ll have to ask her that. As to not knowing, Fenris, don’t be an ass. You didn’t want to know. Maybe none of us did. Varric and Aveline had been feeding her any rumor or whisper of folks interested in a strangely-tattooed elf, for a very long time, but neither of them realized ‘til just before she left.”

“She had me watched?” He wanted to be furious, but the anger was too diffuse, he couldn’t focus.

“No. She watched out for you.” Her tone was scathing. “But really, we all felt a bit dim; once it was clear she loved you. Let’s be honest, there isn’t a person who knows Hawke that would have wanted her to fall in love with you. In general, most people want their family happy.” There was ice in Isabela’s voice and it cut him to the quick.

“I think I’m going to be ill.”

“What’s the matter, Broody? Disgusted that a mage loves you? Do you know what she went through for you?” He heard the sound of her blades coming unsheathed, their razor-sharp edges cutting through the air only slightly less efficiently than her words eviscerated something more precious. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

Isabela was never one to pull her punches, and instead of explaining, she continued on. “Danarius took six weeks, maybe more, to get her back to Tevinter, you know. Have a clue as to what he spent that time doing? And that was just the start, took him three months, she thinks, to do his lovely ritual. And she took it all, just to _spare_ you.” 

He gagged, hard, and fell forward onto his hands and knees. “No. No!”

“What’s it matter to you, elf?” Her voice was low, lethal. “She just another potential abomination, so what if she was beaten or stripped of her skin or _raped_? Or is that you don’t want to feel obligated to a _mage_? Good, ‘cause I guarantee the last thing Hawke wants is your _obligation._ ”

“Shut up!” He wanted to cry, to hit something hard enough to break it, obliterate it, he wanted to find Hawke and shake her, then wrap himself around her, and never, ever let her go. He was losing all perspective, losing his blighted mind.

Isabela said nothing for a long time, while he breathed hard and tried to find some mooring in the storm of chaos moving through him with hurricane force. Finally, he registered the sound of blades being sheathed. “The ship leaves at day-break. If you meant what you said, elf, you’ll be at the docks with bells on. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She left him alone then, for all the good it did Fenris. Every word she spoke pounded in his head. He knew what Micah had gone through, but hearing it... He couldn’t fathom the depth of feeling one person would have to have for another, to do what Hawke had done for him.

His frame of reference was so narrow, the majority of his life before the brands too long lost to retrieve, Fenris could only remember Mikla. Had that been love, of a kind? He thought so, but maybe not enough, not as powerful as Hawke’s... love for him. Fear had stopped Fenris, after all, from trying to retrieve the boy once he escaped. Fear that the child might be dead, yes, but terror at being recaptured in at least equal proportion.

He curled his hands against the floor. Fenris needed something to steady him. He was adrift.

“Sirrah, will you be going to the Imperium?” 

He sat back on his calves for a moment, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Yes.” The very notion turned him to ice, but he _had_ to go. For Hawke. For himself.

“I hoped you’d say that. I asked Bodahn to collect things you might need.”

Fenris looked at the woman; saw the heavy pack she clutched in her hands. Slowly his regard moved back to her face, his confusion surely painted on his. “She loves me.”

The elf looked at him, gaze serious. “Yes.”

“I do not think I remember what that is, Orana.”

“We don’t forget love, Sirrah Fenris. I think sometimes we just lose it. Maybe Mistress can help you find yours, if you’re strong enough to let hers guide the way.”

Fenris stood then, and retrieved the parcel she held for him. Despite his chaotic state, Orana’s words burned into him. He didn’t know if he could do as she suggested, but he wasn’t going to let Hawke leave him behind again. Looking at his hand, Fenris remembered the feel of Micah’s fingers linked with his, the way touching her, being with her, lifted away so much of the heaviness he bore. 

With a nod to Orana, he left the library, pausing only long enough to collect his sword from its place next to the fire. As he strode from the front door of Hawke’s estate, Fenris took a deep breath and lifted his head. This was his choice, one not made based off the past, but perhaps, primarily on the hope for a future. It felt good, _damn_ good, he realized. No matter what else swirled inside, a powerful sense of rightness beat in time with his heart.

 _Perhaps this,_ he thought, _this is what freedom feels like._ Turning toward the Lowtown stairs, Fenris squared himself. He had a ship, and a mage, to catch.

 

Chapter Three

“Hawke?” Varric’s voice drew her from musings.

“Varric, what are you doing here?”

“I heard this crazy rumor you were going back to the Imperium.”

Micah turned from the pylon to face the dwarf. “No rumor. Magisters stirring trouble, people that need my help, and it’s Hawke to the defense.”

“You know, you really have to stop leaving without saying at least ‘see you later, dwarf’.”

He gave her soft look and she smiled. “I’m a shit, what can I say.”

“Nah, you’re a pain in the ass. So, Rivaini tore into the tavern fit to be tied a little while ago, said she was taking you to Qarinus and told me to get my ass down here and check on you while she got her ship in order. Now, I adore our pirate queen, but I can’t recall her ever being worried about someone other than herself. Alright, maybe Daisy and Blondie, but I think you know what I’m asking.”

“Fenris and I got into a… disagreement. I think she caught most of it. I- it didn’t end well.”

“Over what?”

“He wanted to go with me. I said no, he said yes, I said no, he said yes again, we both got angry, and I told him I loved him.” Micah’s face flamed. “Then I ran away. Oh, and threw my guts up.”

Varric’s brows rose slightly before he turned his gaze to look out across the sea, the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon. “So you finally got angry with the elf.”

She shook her head and wrapped her arms around her waist. “If he goes back there… The magisters know about him and they want him, badly. I may not be able to protect him.”

“I know why you feel like you have to, but Hawke, have you ever thought maybe Fenris should be making those kinds of decisions?”

She made a choked sound as anger built. “Excuse me?”

“Before you get all glowy, listen to what I have to say. Freedom is about choice, Hawke. And look, I know it’s gonna piss you off, but you haven’t exactly given the elf a lot of that.”

“A lot of what?”

“Choice. Instead of telling Fenris about all the damn slavers and mercenaries and bounty hunters you’ve chased off over the years, you made the decision to deal with them in quiet. Paid them off, ran them out of town, and outright killed them. You didn’t ask Fenris what he wanted to do about it, let him resolve how to handle the threats. Hell, he didn’t even know there _were_ threats.”

Micah felt a horrible pain low in her stomach. She wanted to deny the dwarf’s words, but she couldn’t. Her belly heaved again, and she clapped a hand over her mouth as she sank to her knees. Varric came closer and she felt the press of his palm to her head.

“You didn’t go to him about Varania. Tell him your suspicions or what you planned to do. And yes, he’d have lost his shit, but so what? You’d still have gone to the Hanged Man, because that was your decision. If Fenris is free, then he’s free to fuck up, free to take help or not. Just like you do what you think’s best, no matter what.”

Micah gave a humorless laugh. “Varric, you make how I feel sound more like smothering than love. He’s better off without me.”

“I didn’t even imply that, Hawke. I know you love him, selflessly, but you have this definition of what _you_ think he needs to be free and happy. But you’ve never asked him what he wants. Maybe facing his past, with you standing right beside him, is what he needs. Not protecting him, but supporting him.”

She cried softly for a bit, before scrubbing her hands over her face and shaking herself. _Enough of all this bullshit,_ she pushed to her feet. Varric was right, Hawke knew it. She loved Fenris the only way she thought she could, by protecting him, by becoming Danarius’ slave, by putting herself between him and anyone that intended harm. But in doing so, she’d become a barrier that also kept Fenris trapped behind her formidable will.

And she’d been protecting herself too. She didn’t have to worry about him rejecting her efforts, her help, even herself to an extent. So long he remained ignorant of her reasons and motivations. She was content with him having the freedom she thought he should have and no matter how true her motivation, it did little to ease the sting of realizing she may have become one of the very things she fought so hard to keep away from the elf.

The sound of bare feet on stone neared and Micah tensed. She shot a look at Varric, whose face was very definitely worried. “Wish me luck?”

He covered his worry with a wry twist of his lips. “All there is in Thedas, Hawke.”

“Make sure everyone stays safe, dwarf? I’d hate to come back here and find the Gallows ablaze.”

The storyteller shook his head. “I make no promises, madam. But I think there’s a bit more space at the top of the Kirkwall pot, before things boil over.”

She snorted. “Not exactly reassuring.”

“Before I go, I’m having a gift delivered shortly. I actually had it commissioned after you told me the tale of the Archon. Hope you can use daggers.”

Micah cocked her head. “I can, actually, but I’m probably rusty. Father made sure Bethany and I could both use weapons, since staffs often drew unwanted attention. I’m nowhere near as skilled as Isabela, but… Wait, why would you have daggers made for me?”

“Don’t think of them as daggers. Think of them as miniature staffs with very sharp, pointy ends. That’s what they are, really. You’ll see. Try to come back in one piece, and without any new tattoos, won’t you?”

“I make no promises, dwarf.” She wanted to hug him so badly, but settled for squeezing his smaller hand.

Varric walked past Fenris and said something Micah couldn’t hear. The elf glared, then quirked a brow before giving the dwarf a half-bow. She watched the exchange trying to screw her courage to a sticking point.

He approached, carefully, and she tracked each movement like her namesake. “Fenris.”

“I’m going, Hawke.”

She squeezed herself tight and struggled to keep her voice even. “It’s your choice.”

Oh, how hard those words were to say, but how much she knew she had to speak them.

Something lit in his green eyes a moment before he ducked his head. “Thank you.”

The edges of her knuckles dug into her ribs. “Don’t thank me, Fenris. I didn’t give you permission. But that’s what freedom is, as Varric so rightly reminded me.” She looked away from him and pried her arms away from her body as Isabela came toward them from lower in the docks.

It took more energy than she thought, staying on two legs as she strode to Isabela. “Is everything ready?”

“She’ll be put to sea within the hour. I take it Broody’s coming?”

“Yes. I’ll be below deck. I need out of this armor.”

Isabela didn’t even try to flirt, a sure sign she was still agitated over what she’d seen. “Varric’s package is waiting for you.”

“Thanks, Bela.”

Hawke boarded the ship and went straight to the captain’s quarters. She’d just hung her armor when a knock at the door made her sigh. She was glad she’d pulled on a top and pants, since there was no telling who was on the other side of the door. _It better not be Fenris._

“Yes?”

Matheson, then Wilson, stepped inside. “Accipiter, Captain Isabela said we should reach Qarinus in a week.”

“That’s good, the sooner, the better. Let me tell you what I know, so far. Apparently my holding there is going to be attacked by a couple of magisters who’d appreciate the slave routes from the port. According to the maid that curried the information to Henley, they’re planning to forcibly remove the property from my control in a fortnight.”

“How sure is he of the information?”

“I’d guess that’s rather the point. He isn’t. Mikla said your lieutenant was confident the force in Lantarius could handle an attack they were prepared for, but if the plot was more intricate…”

“He’d want your orders.”

She inclined her head. “I suppose so. Though I’ll admit, you men are likely better tacticians than I am.” Wilson toed his boot against the wood and Micah frowned. “What is it, Wilson?”

He glanced up, first at her, then Matheson. When the older man shook his head, the younger gave him a crooked grin. With another shake, Matheson shot Hawke a slightly exasperated half-smile.

“What is it?”

“Wilson and I have been reminded, a time or two, just how much like the Warden Commander you are. She’s said the same thing on more than one occasion, but the truth is, Solona Amell is a bloody genius in a battle and has an uncanny talent for engendering loyalty from her followers that borders on veneration.”

Hawke laughed, heartily. “Come on, no one worships me.”

The two men grinned. “Maybe not at an altar, but Matheson and I wouldn’t hesitate to follow your orders, even if it meant likely death. We know you’d be right there with us, after all. And everyone around you would do the same.” 

Matheson tipped his head. “Plus, something Henley would never say, but I will, you’re frightening when you light up. We can use every advantage against those blighted magisters.”

Micah grinned, was well and truly humbled by his words. “Thank you, Wilson.” She chuckled and turned to Varric’s gift. “And now that I’m at a loss for words, I think I’ll see what the dwarf sent me.”

“Accipiter.” Both men pressed their fists to their chests before retreating, pulling the door closed as they went.

The box on the bed was wrapped in plain brown paper and tied off with a length of twine. It wasn’t very deep, or longer than the span from the tips of her fingers to her elbows. Slowly, because Micah loved revealing presents almost as much as the gift themselves. She released the twine and folded back the paper.

A wooden box of obsidian wood gleamed up at her, an intricate, gilt hawk on its face. If the contents were as wonderful as the container, Hawke would owe the dwarf something big. She pulled the lid open and gasped, hands reaching out for the beautiful weapons nestled in crushed red velvet. The second her fingers touched the first, she felt the hum of rune craft and lyrium and let out a giddy sigh. He really had miniature, pointy staffs made for her. She could feel the magic in the pieces call to her, wanting to be a conduit for her power.

She pulled the dagger-staff out, cradling its silver-blue perfection in her hands. The bladed ends were expertly crafted and supremely sharp as she discovered when she split her thumb testing the edge. The pommel, though, was truly magnificent. She slid her palm up and over some of the finest detail work Micah had ever seen. Each curve and feather of the hawk’s head was etched into the darkest garnet stone she’d ever seen, its eyes two sparkling blue sapphires. The effort was so realistic for a moment she thought it would turn and face her.

With reverence, she replaced the first, and reached for the second, only to hesitate. The second pommel was carved from ivory, she suspected. The stark white material, bearing the head of a wolf, caught the early morning light that spilled through the large porthole, its emerald gaze entrancing. What a pair they made, captivating, dangerous, and powerful. _Damn you, Varric. When you make a statement, you don’t leave anything on the table._

Nestled next to the weapons were leg sheaths for each. Hawke wasn’t sure how pleasant the heavy leather would be on her skin, but honestly, it didn’t matter. As soon as they made Qarinus, she was strapping these beauties on, one to each thigh. Until then, though, she needed to learn their balance and weight. Micah closed the lid and decided she’d suffer the extra pain of wet salt-water the next week. The deck was the only place open enough for her to spar, to remember skills she hadn’t used in years. Placing the box on the floor near the wardrobe, she wandered the cabin.

Hawke chose to sit at the small table in the room, something new from the last time she’d been there. She’d been reading the latest installment of _Hard in Hightown_ , before Isabela showed up. The Rivaini oohed and aahed over Hawke’s new weapons and agreed to clear the deck for a couple of hours every morning so Micah could practice.

“So, I drew the short straw.”

Hawke gave the pirate a strange look. “Short straw?”

“The elf wants to sleep in here.”

“No way in the Black City, Isabela.” Micah pitched in her seat and it wasn’t due to the movement of the boat.

The dark-skinned woman grimaced and pulled out the other small chair at the table. “I told them you’d say that.”

“Them?”

“Your men out there think it’s a good idea. Maker only knows what you’re walking into, everyone wants you at your best.”

“I don’t care what everyone wants. Really, I was fine in Tevinter!”

“No you weren’t, but there was nothing anyone could do, Hawke.”

“Yes, I was.”

Isabela shook her head. “No. You looked like shit when I arrived. You were too thin, you’re skin even more pale than normal. You were functioning, better than a lot of people who get proper rest, but you weren’t at the top of your game. You need to be, now.”

“This is ridiculous! I can’t – where in the void is he supposed to sleep? A pallet on the floor will likely have him across the room midway through the night.”

Rivaini cleared her throat and Hawke wanted to dissolve into a puddle and slip through the cracks in the floorboards.

“I am not _sleeping_ with Fenris!” Hawke hissed the words to stop from yelling.

“You’re both all grown up and adult like. Nothing is going to happen. Too bad that, a good shag might put you both in better moods. But if it’ll get you to agree, I said I’d hang a sling next to the bed, so you won’t have to worry about getting all snuggly while you’re naked.”

“I want to fucking kick you right now, Bela!” Micah ground her teeth together. “You said if I agree, but you’ve all already decided, haven’t you?”

The pirate shrugged her shoulders. “Pretty much. The only question is whether you make him wait outside the door the rest of the day or you let him in now.”

“Isabela!”

“Listen, sweet cheeks, I’ve already stuck my nose farther into this mess than I wanted to. I’m not getting any more entangled. Fenris came aboard and straight here. He isn’t going anywhere. In fact, when Wilson suggested he take himself to another part of the ship, Fenris lit up and asked the man if he’d like to see his heart. Honestly, I think everyone would feel more relaxed if he did his guarding from this side of the door.”

Micah was shocked, and embarrassed. Her men and Isabela all heard her hollered confession, so having Fenris act… Maker, she didn’t even know how to explain his actions, made her feel fidgety and out of sorts. “Andraste give me strength. Let him in, fuck.”

Bela patted her hand. “Maybe it won’t be so bad. A week in here, you may decide you’d rather choke the elf than have his broody babies.”

“What?! Go, for the love of the Maker, just go. And bring back a hammock!” Hawke buried her flaming face in her hands, cursing Isabela with every word she could call to mind.

Of course, the Rivaini only laughed loud and husky. The cabin door opened and Bela’s voice changed from warm and throaty to hard as nails in an instant. “Behave.”

The door closed and Micah peaked from between her fingers to see Fenris leaning against the it, head tilted back, eyes closed.

* * *

Fenris wasn’t ready to move any closer to Hawke than the door. He wasn’t sure he would be ready by the time night came and she needed to sleep. And she did need sleep, despite her repeated claims to the contrary. His demand that he be with her, though, it wasn’t just for her benefit.

The longer they stayed apart, the easier it would be for him to pretend nothing had happened, to fall back into old patterns. No matter how illogical it was Fenris didn’t want to go back to the way things were between him and Hawke. He was nervous, angry, scared, worried, frustrated, confused, so many things, but all of that was better, he’d discovered in the last few hours, than closed-off, lonely, and bitter.

Pushing from the door, he cast a quick glance at the woman in the room and saw she’d shifted in the chair, given him her back and appeared to be reading. She was dressed in blue silk, the exact shade of her eyes he knew, and he saw her armor on a stand in the corner. He walked toward it, intent on taking off his own chest piece, the salt from the sea unpleasant against his skin, when his bare foot caught the edge of a box.

“ _Venhedis_.” He bent down to retrieve the cause of his throbbing toe.

“No, don’t!” Fenris opened the lid and heard Hawke sigh, loudly. “Shit.”

He didn’t know why she hadn’t wanted him to see the daggers. They were of the highest quality, ivory, garnet, the best dwarven steel, they were… Fenris’ eyes widened as he really looked at the pieces. A blood red hawk, with large sapphire eyes and a snow white wolf with dual emeralds gleaming from the pommel, the symbolism was impossible to miss. 

“Where did you get these?” He stroked his fingertips over the vicious curve of the raptor’s beak.

“Varric had them made. I didn’t know. They were a surprise.”

He harrumphed. If nothing else, the set made a powerful statement. Fenris felt the tingle of magic resonating from the weapons. “The dwarf’s very clever. I assume they’ll work like a staff?”

“He called them miniature staffs with sharp, pointy ends.”

Fenris nodded, more to himself than Hawke. “And those pointy ends can’t be Silenced. Like I said, clever.”

He heard her shift in her seat. “You’re right. I never thought about it. Damn, I’m going to have to buy him the Hanged Man for this one.” 

He felt his lips quirk. “Maybe so.” Rubbing his thumb once more over the bird, Fenris savored the feel of the stone a moment more before closing the lid. He walked to the wardrobe and put her gift safely inside the secured furniture.

Her eyes lingered, he felt them like a touch. Keeping his back to Micah, he began undoing his armor, gauntlets first, then the thick leather top. His sensitive ears picked up the way her breathing changed and he fought a blush, using the act of placing his equipment on the rack to stay faced away from her. 

With brusque movements, he rubbed his hands over what of his body he could reach, trying to remove as much detritus as possible. When he finally felt like he could face her without any more awkwardness that there’d been when he first stepped into the room, Fenris pivoted and walked toward her.

Of course, her face was buried in her book, yet again. He wanted to smile, a big, silly grin at her actions, since she’d seen him completely nude – and aroused – once already. But he knew Hawke wouldn’t be comfortable if he did. Still, he wanted her to look at him, so badly he curled his fists at his side to keep from taking her chin in his fingers and tilting her face to his.

Looking down at his hands, he shook his head and wondered if this was how Micah felt all these years when she did the very same thing.

“What are you reading?”

She startled in the chair. “Um, Varric’s book. One of them, at least.”

Fenris pulled out the seat next to hers. “ _Hard in Hightown_?”

“Yeah. It’s not bad, maybe not classical literature, but definitely exciting. Plus, I can hear the dwarf in my head, telling the story. I recommend the series, but stay away from Isabela’s stuff.”

“Isabela writes too?”

Micah snorted and looked up at Fenris. “I don’t know I’d call it writing.” Her face flamed bright red and she quickly looked back down.

“Why not?”

“Fenris, shit, I – Maker, you know what, go ask Bela for a copy of something she’s done. If you make it through an entire page, from anywhere between the covers, and not know what I mean afterward, I’ll explain then.”

“I’d rather not go on deck.” Fenris put his elbow on the table and leaned his chin in the palm of his hand, trying not to grin when Micah’s face warmed further.

“In the wardrobe, on the top shelf, she keeps a few copies there.”

He watched her for a few moments more, before standing to see if she was right. Sure enough, Fenris found four thin tomes. He pulled them out and bean to read their titles aloud.

“ _A Bird in Her Hand by Eric Shun_. Doesn’t sound very interesting.”

Micah coughed hard, but didn’t say anything. He put the first book back and looked at the second. That one had a picture of a warrior on the cover. “ _Torn Asunder by Ilova Goodfach_. This one has promise.” 

Hawke snorted so hard she lost hold of her book, then began choking and coughing, Fenris realized, she was actually laughing hard enough to shake the table.

He looked at her like she’d lost her mind, but considering everything, he decided not to worry. Settling himself at the table, he opened the cover and turned the pages until he came to the first.

“Sword hanging limp in his grip, Ser Reginald looked down at his would be conqueror, and felt himself ready for their next battle.”

“Fenris, Maker, don’t read out loud!”

He lowered the book and saw Hawke staring at him as if _he_ was the one who’d lost his mind. “You know I read better if I sound the words out.”

“I can’t – you don’t want to read that out loud.” She turned her face toward the ceiling. “Please, if there are any gods listening, I think I’m rather done being the butt of your jokes.”

Fenris pursed his lips and frowned, turning back to the words in front of him. “’Is that the best you can do, Sirrah? I’d heard you were much more proficient.’ The thief didn’t even try to conceal her smirk and Reginald shook the weapon between them. A wet, pink tongue darted between full lips and he grunted as they both watched the blunted tip lift until it was only inches from her haughty moue.”

“It’s said like ‘moo’. It’s a kind of pouty frown.” Her voice was soft, and stilted.

“Moue. ‘Get off your knees. I’ll at least give you the chance to parry my thrusts.’ Eyes narrowing, the woman slowly rose, walking backward toward the…bed? Wait, what?” Fenris’ eyes widened as he read the next words. “She lay back, the creamy skin of her thighs parted, her red-tipped fingers slipping between to play with the plump button that rode her… _Fasta vass_! This isn’t a book!” 

He felt like his entire body might go up in flames. He tossed the tome from him, to the far side of the table, where it ended next to the wall.

“I told you so, but no, you couldn’t take my word for it.”

He narrowed his gaze at Hawke. “You thought it was funny.”

“It was, until you actually started reading the damn thing!”

“It isn’t funny.”

“Fenris, the author’s names? Eric Shun? Erection. Ilova Goodfach?” She said it like he had, il-ova good-fash. “Not so much, try I love a good fak, rather fuck.” She snickered behind her hand. 

His mouth dropped open. 

She struggled, but finally managed to get herself under control. “Next time maybe you’ll listen when I say don’t read Isabela’s books.”

He lifted a brow. Micah had to know refusing to tell him what Rivaini wrote would have only made Fenris want the answer that much more. She hadn’t intended for him to actually read any of it out loud, which explained the bright flush on her face, but he found he wasn’t upset by his embarrassment any longer because she’d… teased him.

Reaching past her, he took Isabela’s filth in hand and smirked at Hawke. “I think I’ll continue.”

She slammed her palm on top of the thing. “Not out loud you won’t.” Micah’s expression was priceless, two parts mortification and one part laughter.

“It’s hours until dark and I’ve nothing better to do.”

“Fenris, I’m warning you.” A smile pulled at her lovely mouth, though she tried to keep her expression disapproving.

He dipped his head, looking at her through the fringe of his bangs. “Surely you can ignore me.”

Her cheeks heated, she bit her lip, but her eyes glittered like precious stones with mirth. “Don’t you dare.”

Fenris was suddenly possessed by the need to hear Micah laugh. On an instinct he didn’t know he had, the elf slipped his lower lip out, just a bit, and frowned.

She disintegrated into fits of hilarity, hands crossed over her chest, head back, white teeth flashing. “No moues, don’t ever moue again, Fenris!” 

The sound…It felt like a cloud of fireflies took flight in his chest, zings of light and warmth fizzing like champagne. He sat back and lifted a hand to push his hair out of his face and laughed with her. He couldn’t imagine how he must have looked, but her amusement was infectious. Fenris looked at her as he laughed harder, watched her face soften, her eyelids slip down.

“I’ve never heard you laugh. It’s nice.” She dipped her head, using her long locks to curtain her from his view.

He started to curl his fingers, and then thought better of it. Fenris gave in to the urge, reaching out, and pushed the silken strands to the side, tucking them behind her small, human ear. She went utterly still and he pulled away.

“Why don’t you read to me?”

Micah didn’t even glance at him as she picked up her book and found her place, but a tiny smile curved her mouth as she began, “Donnen Brennicovick was getting too old for this shit…”

 

Chapter Four

“No, Hawke! Venhedis!” Fenris’ sword smacked across the back of Micah’s shoulders again, a red strip blooming against her fair skin.

“Listen, elf, I haven’t fought with anything but a staff for years! Give me a break.” She swiped her arm across her forehead, trying to keep the sweat from pouring into her eyes.

Fenris scowled and shook his head. Isabela had adapted one of Hawke’s outfits into a modified breast band and extremely abbreviated bottoms. If, distracted as he was by her limited covering, he could still best her without difficulty the mage was in very real trouble.

“The magisters won’t ‘give you a break’,” he sneered. “Take position again, and stop hesitating. Your instincts are strong, quit fighting them.”

She narrowed her gaze and repositioned her body, then nodded at him to begin. Fenris lifted the practice sword Bela had found Maker-knew-where and darted forward, bringing the wooden substitute up and between them in a slashing motion.

Hawke spun to the side, coming up beside him. Fenris turned with her, changing the arc of the weapon to cut toward her, but she dropped into a crouch and swept his feet. He went down, but rolled immediately, away from the sound of wood cracking as she slammed the pommel of one of her bladed into the deck where he’d been.

He faced her, rose into a crouch as well, and lifted a brow at the splintered wood. “Better.”

She flashed him a grin, but remained vigilant. Fenris didn’t leave her waiting, rushing forward and jumping, sword over his head, body taut, ready to bring the wood down in a move he used often in battle that left his enemies cleaved it two.

Micah’s eyes widened, but her mouth tightened, and at the last moment, she threw herself away to the left of him, but instead of rolling away, she tucked her body around, balanced on her toes and when he slammed into the deck on hands and knees, she darted in and poked him…with her finger, just below his exposed armpit.

“Huh.” A strange _zip_ of something forced the odd sound from his mouth. Instinctively, he shied away from her, turning to face her.

The puzzled look she gave him, brow furrowed and lower lip caught between her teeth, said she was thinking very hard about something. Hoping to use her lack of attention to his advantage, he lifted onto his knees and jabbed with the sword, but she evaded him again, jumping back, falling, but quickly righting herself.

“Keep it up, Hawke.”

“Thanks.” He watched her sleek figure dance to the right, the graceful extension of her legs as she pivoted on her toes. 

Micah darted forward, then zagged when he thrust toward her, only to spin on the points of her feet, rapidly. Fenris tried to counter but he was too slow to react and Hawke landed her first real blow, of a sort. Instead of the feel of hard stone pommel to his ribcage, Fenris felt her fingers dance over his skin, firm but chaotic.

“Ha!” He tripped over his feet, twisting the whole of his body away from her, wooden sword clattering to the floor. 

Her face was lit with mischief, the smile on her lips open and full of good humor. “You’re ticklish!”

He righted himself and made to retrieve the sword, but Micah swooped in and kicked it away, the practice weapon sliding over the smooth surface. He heard a giggle, watched her fire first one dagger, then the other, both of their vicious points slamming with quick _thunk, thunks_ into the deck just beyond his sword, effectively stopping Fenris’ weapon from going too far from them.

His brows lifted. “If you can do that, why were you so bad earlier?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I just needed to remember what it’s like to fight in close quarters. I want to spar again, tomorrow, and every day ‘til we reach Qarinus, but I think I’ve got it back.”

Fenris nodded and swiped his palm over his bare chest, the dampness of sweat and sea-air starting to make him itch. Assuming they were finished for the day, he turned toward the wooden crate he’d set his armor on before they’d begun practice.

Hawke seemed to have other ideas, because she dashed in front of him, tripping him. Fenris scowled, shifting his body, spreading his feet, the instincts of battle too ingrained to ever be anything less than instinctive. “What are you doing?”

“We should practice grappling too.”

 _Oh, no. No, he wasn’t even going to imagine wrestling with a nearly-naked Hawke_. “I doubt you’ll need it.”

“Really?” Her hands punched forward, finger tips making a scrambling motion against his stomach.

“Ha, ha! Damn it, Hawke, stop that!”

“Fenris is ticklish.” She laughed and danced to the side when he tried to reach for her.

He growled and lowered his center of gravity, intending to plow her to the deck and be done with it.

Micah had other ideas. In a move a gymnast would admire, she dove over him, tucking her chin and rolling forward when she hit the deck in a smooth tumble, and finished by popping back onto her toes and spinning to face him. “You’ll have to do better than that, elf.”

He spun and tried, but she didn’t stay still, flitting here and there, laughter tinkling in the ocean air, her quick fingers catching him, her clever eyes seeming to memorize every spot that made him squirm and recoil. She paid particular attention to the places on him that forced strangled chuckles from him.

Fenris had no memory of being tickled or being ticklish, but apparently he was, and it delighted Hawke to no end. She pushed his buttons, literally. When his body was so sensitized to every press of a digit, each scrape of her nail that he worried his leggings might not be able to contain the erection bound behind their ties, he snarled and made to lock his arms around her ever-moving form and stop the small tortures. But Micah was ready for him and when he tried to snatch her from her feet, she lifted her knee, pressing it solidly to his stomach, before shoving his shoulders, hard.

He fell backward, as she’d planned, and she followed him down, her bottom planted on his stomach _thank the Maker_ , both of his wrists trapped in one of hers.

And then with an evil laugh, she used her free hand to tickle him until he writhed under her, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe, hips heaving from the deck, back twisting as he tried to throw her off, but Micah tightened her knees and rode his chaotic movements. He finally freed one hand, but giggling hard, she simply rocked forward and used both hands to pin each of his to the deck, close to his head.

“Mercy, Fenris? Do you yield?” 

She scooted back a bit and Fenris stilled immediately, lest she realize the… excited state of his body. He looked up at her, her sweet blue eyes shining, no glowing with happiness, her skin flushed from their exertions, and he was overwhelmed with the intense desire to kiss Micah.

Her smile faltered when he didn’t answer. “Fenris, are you alright? I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to upset you- Fenris!”

He used her worry against her, rolling her supple form beneath him, reversing their positions. He held himself off her chest, bracing his weight against his forearms, but his pelvis was pressed hard against the juncture of her legs and between the sheerness of her clothes and the lightness of his leggings, he could feel the heat of her. _Maker_ , he was dizzied by the sensation, instinctively rocking forward.

She tightened beneath him, knees rising against his hips, and he watched her eyes swirl and darken, laughter fading as hunger grew. Fenris heard their breathing turn more and more ragged, the sound of his own heartbeat drowning everything but that, until he knew if he didn’t move away from her, he would do more than simply kiss Hawke. His muscles quivered as he drew back.

“You didn’t upset me. Micah.”

He dashed to his armor and fled to the lower decks. Not the captain’s cabin, but the galley, the farthest place from Hawke that he could think of on the ship.

* * *

“Really, Hawke, just shag him already. The unresolved sexual tension is killing _me_ , I can’t imagine what you must feel.” Isabela looked down at her, mouth turned up in her trademark smirk.

Micah thought about saying something in response, but truthfully, there weren’t enough brain cells firing for her to be coherent. She could still _feel_ him, long and hard, pressed between her thighs. The feel of his bare stomach against hers, the way the lyrium had sung, loud and beautiful, in her head where their brands touched.

Bela held a hand out to her and Micah lifted for it, her legs like jelly when she found them. The pirate shifted, using both hands to carefully balance Hawke, keeping her fingers from directly touching any lyrium tendrils, and chuckled. “Oh, did you reach the crow’s nest, sweet cheeks?”

Hawke blushed hot enough the cook could have used her face for a skillet. “No! Isabela, Maker, don’t!” She shot the woman a furious glare.

“Hmm, touchy. Alright, well, let’s get you to my room. I had a bath hauled in, I can’t imagine all this sweat feels good on your skin.”

Hawke looked at the Rivaini and realized that until right then, she hadn’t even noticed the stinging pain over her body. Pulling away from Isabela’s hold, she made her way to the stairs and into the captain’s quarters.

The tub was small, the potable water for her bath limited to three buckets. The other woman left Micah alone and she was grateful. She rinsed quickly, shaking excess water from her skin and not bothering with clothing at all. Despite her earlier reprieve, her flesh throbbed now, punishment for sparring, and maybe more.

What had possessed her to tickle the elf? Yes, she’d been surprised when she’d realized Fenris was sensitive. Hearing him chuckle, seeing the confusion on his face, and Hawke had wanted to show him what he was missing. She’d been so happy, touching him, finding out the best places to graze her fingers or poke a quick jab, for those few minutes she’d had nothing in her mind more important than Fenris and his laughter.

But then, then the damn elf had changed everything, rolling her beneath his warm, hard body. And the way he’d looked at her, like he wanted… like he needed to, well, kiss her was the least of what she’d sensed. And then he’d rocked against her, the unyielding pressure of him stealing her breath.

She shivered part memory and part the water drying on her skin and took a deep breath. Knowing she’d probably regret it, loathing just the thought, Micah made her way to the bed. She slid beneath the sheet, silk like her clothes, and laid back. Careful not to move more than necessary, she picked up the book beside her and removed the page marker. She’d rather sit naked at the table or stand naked at the porthole, but being nude in the bed was likely dangerous enough.

Her awareness of Fenris had been ever-present before, but she’d at least been able to hide it or push it away. But no longer and today wasn’t even the first time she noticed either. Since the morning after he’d tried to tear her heart out, the attraction she felt for Fenris seemed to take on a will of its own. It refused to stay in the background, refused to be obedient to her wishes. And Micah was weak, her wants ever leaning more to whatever it took to feel his skin against hers, long before she’d ever felt it, and less toward maintaining strict distance between them.

Aggravated and unsettled, Micah hoped Donnen Brennicovick was having better luck than she.

* * *

“I thought I’d find you here. Hiding, Fenris?” 

He watched the captain flick a glance at her men and the galley emptied, post-haste. Not that Fenris was surprised her men obeyed without a word, he had after all seen Rivaini in action.

“Do not make light of it, Isabela.”

“Is there any other way for me to make it, elf?” She smirked and turned a nearby chair around, straddling the seat as she got comfortable.

He sighed and shifted to look out the oddly shaped window in the wall. Fenris hadn’t seen its shape before, and certainly not in a boat, the large six-sided box giving him a wide view of the rolling sea.

“Of course I wouldn’t have you shagging on the deck, but you could have followed her to her room. I think it’d do the both of you a world of good.”

“I can’t – I’ve never… I do not remember anything like this.”

“Is that all?” Isabela chuckled. “I promise you don’t need to remember anything. Point A goes into Slot B. Not much to it.”

He hissed at her, shooting a glare over his shoulder. “That is _not_ what I mean. I know how to _fuck_ , whore.”

She cocked her head and gave him an arch look. “Then, once more, what’s the problem?”

Fenris lifted his arm to the port, leaning his weight against the edge. He didn’t exactly want to have this conversation with the Rivaini, but he didn’t have any other option. And perhaps, despite the lackadaisical air with regard to intimacy, there was more to Isabela than he thought. So far, he’d learned both Hawke and Anders weren’t what he’d presumed them to be, why not the pirate as well.

“She cares for me.”

“She loves you, Broody. There’s a wealth of difference between the two.”

He pressed his forehead to his arm. “I’ll have to trust your opinion because I don’t know what the difference is.”

“What do you know, Fenris?”

“I want her. I ache for her, every single inch of my body is drawn painfully tight with need for her. I would fuck her, take her, until neither of us could move, but there’s a twisting in my core saying it wouldn’t be enough. I, _fasta vass_ I do not want to hurt her. I don’t know, some part of me stays the desire, it tells me if I do this and then can’t-“ He stopped talking, searching for words he didn’t know to explain what he didn’t comprehend.

“If you can’t be with her, or worse, if you turn tail and run, you’ll destroy her.”

He sagged against the porthole, angry with Isabela for saying what he couldn’t, and immensely grateful at the same time. “Yes. And I’m afraid.” The last came unbidden and he wanted to recall the words immediately.

She made a soft sound then sighed. “Eventually, Fenris, neither of you is going to be able to stop what’s happening. Unless one of you dies or suddenly decides to run away and never come back. It might not even happen soon, but you’re going to have to face that truth and decide what you want more: Hawke or the safety of hiding.” 

He laughed and it was a derisive noise that sounded harsh to his ears. “One or the other of us dying is a distinct possibility.”

“True. Listen, I have a feeling both of you are a bit too on edge for anything to happen while we’re on the ship. The fact that she has two big, burly knights right outside her door will likely dampen even the most passion-crazed wanton.”

Fenris felt a smirk tug at his lips. “There is that.”

“I’ll only say one more thing, then I’ll leave you to brood. I do have a ship to run, you know. But Fenris, knowing going to Qarinus could bring very bad things, do you really want to die without knowing what it’s like to be in the arms of someone who,” Isabela’s voice grew thick, the tone barely above a whisper, “loves you? Truly and deeply?”

The chair screeched against the floor as the pirate hurried from the galley. Her words, much more profound than Fenris would ever have expected from her, remained. He’d heard it, the pain of someone who knew the difference between fucking and not, in Isabela’s voice. Her question turning over and over in his head, he looked out at the sea once more and tried to find an answer.

* * *

“Are you ready?” Micah tightened the thigh sheaths one last time, making certain they’d stay in place.

Fenris strapped his massive sword to his back and nodded to her. They hadn’t spoken of their first sparring session, both of them singularly having decided to pretend it hadn’t happened and focus on their imminent arrival in Qarinus. But as he stood next to her on the bow, the _Lovely_ slipping into her breach at the port, Fenris knew they couldn’t step off the boat until he did one last thing.

Turning to Hawke, he curled both his hands around her shoulders, making her face him. Her eyes widened and her lips parted as if to say something and Fenris leaned forward to press him mouth to hers.

He shuttered his eyes and felt her tense for the briefest moment before she stumbled into him, her hands falling to his waist, fingers digging hard into his armor. Her mouth opened wider at the first tentative touch of his tongue and Fenris pressed forward, tilting his head to give himself better access to the hot, sweet recesses of her mouth.

She moaned and he swallowed the sound greedily, his kiss becoming harder, more aggressive as all the things he felt for her seemed to pour from him. As if she knew, Micah jerked his body hard to hers and thrust her own tongue into his mouth, giving back as much as she received, not retreating but meeting him caress for caress, tongue tangling with his, breaking away only when the need for air was too much, before coming for his lips again, one hand struggling past his arm to thrust into his hair.

Fenris ground his hips to her and growled into her mouth a moment before pulling back to bury his face in the curve of her neck. He swiped his tongue over the delicate flesh, the taste of Hawke and lyrium on his tongue. He wanted to stay there, forever, the flavor of her staining his lips, the press of her body warm and clinging to his.

Instead he pulled from her, masculine pride suffusing him at the lust-flushed glow on her cheeks, the puffiness of her mouth, the dazed look in her sapphire eyes.

“I am now.”

She let go of him and seemed to shake herself, eyes clearing to dart away from him, then back. Micah cleared her throat and stepped away. “Right, then. Let’s go.”


	6. Part VI: A Little Death

Chapter One

Lieutenant Henley saluted Micah as her feet met dry land. “Magister Accipiter.”

“Lieutenant, tell me what I need to know.” 

The man in charge of her forces looked at Fenris, who stood behind her left shoulder, with a calculating eye. “The Wolf, I presume.”

She heard the elf smirk, felt the heat of his body and he gave Henley a small bow. “None other.”

The lieutenant nodded before motioning for the small contingent of men he’d brought with him to about face and begin the march back to her property. “It took gold, but thanks to your steward, Magister, I think we have a good idea of what exactly is being planned against you. I’ve brought mounts, since your estate is quite a climb on foot. If it’s alright with you, Accipiter, I’d like to wait until we’re clear of the bustle before going into detail about what information I have.”

“Good idea, Henley, on both counts.” 

The lieutenant directed Hawke toward three horses. She lifted a brow but didn’t hesitate, striding to the lead equine, a large, bay stallion. Its coat was dark red, almost as dark as her hair, all four legs jet black to the knee, with a long ebony mane and tail, and night-dark eyes. The male snorted, stomping his massive feet, feathered fetlocks fluttering with each movement. He was a destrier of close to sixteen hands, his heavily muscled loin and hindquarters etched with powerful definition.

Taking his bridle in hand, she called her brands to life. There was a shocked cry from many of the people who worked or were shopping near the docks, screams of terror followed by the rushing sound of many feet pounding dirt, but the horse responded with only the slightest jerk of its head and another snort.

“And what’s your name?” She breathed against the flared nostril, giving him her scent, but kept her eyes locked to the stallion’s as she calmed the ore in her skin.

“He came from the ‘Fels, and the horse seller called him _Verdorben_ , Tainted. He said the horse was barely broke to ride and refused to let non-mages anywhere near him.”

“Can a horse be lyrium addicted? Or addled?” Micah rubbed his soft nose. She hadn’t sat a mount in forever, but was anxious to be on her way. 

“I don’t know, Magister. I wouldn’t even have brought him, but he was insistent. There’s no other way to explain it, the animal was practically frantic in his stall as I had the others saddled, he actually kicked his way free, bowled four stable boys over until the head boy lifted a saddle from the rack and moved toward him.”

“Why’d you buy him in the first place?”

“He’s prime horseflesh, Magister. A magnificent mount, one that’s partial to mages, I thought he might come in handy.”

Micah wasn’t sure what to make of the beast, but she couldn’t afford to dawdle any longer. If the horse was somehow not, if it was some kind of possessed thing, she’d find out eventually, but for now, she moved to the left, slipping her foot into the stirrup and pulling herself into the seat. 

Verdorben tossed his head, but otherwise stayed still, powerful, beneath her, waiting her direction. Turning, she watched with no small pleasure as Fenris mounted the largest of the three horses, a right massive grey with snow white mane and tail. The horse had to be eighteen hands if an inch, but the elf swung into the saddle with so little effort Micah wondered how she’d never known Fenris could ride.

“How does he sit?” She put the faintest pressure to Verdorben’s right side and the horse spun with the agility of a dancer.

Fenris grinned at her. “Perfectly. Though I have to wonder if your man didn’t plan this, after all we’re both atop steeds that match us in coloring.”

“I thought the same thing when I saw you, Wolf. But it’s purely coincidental. Goliath, there, is usually too much horse for any rider, strong as an ox and stubborn to boot. But he’s an excellent warhorse and his gait is smooth despite his size. I wasn’t expecting you to accompany the magister. I brought those two for her to choose from.”

The elf leaned forward and briskly rubbed the neck of his mount and the horse responded with a happy whicker. “No matter, I think we’ll get along just fine.”

Henley seated himself on the last horse, a sturdy chestnut, and moved to point, which Micah’s stallion wasn’t thrilled about. She corrected him quickly, with a firm but gentle hand and he settled. “Smart boy, ‘Ben.”

She heard Fenris chuckle behind her as they made their way from the port and through the market. “Verdorben is a mouthful.”

“Indeed.”

It didn’t take long for them to be free of the heart of Qarinus. Henley fell back to come parallel with her and she heard the heavy beat of Goliath’s hooves as Fenris moved up.

“The attack here is likely a diversion, of a sort. Estwell absolutely wants the estate; in fact my scouts have reported two well-armed battalions of men heading toward us with their magister in tow.”

“But?”

“My men in Minrathous have reported soldiers trickling into the city over the last week.”

“Numbers?”

“Nothing concrete, but not many, so far. What’s interesting is the soldiers are accompanying no less than a dozen mages. Not magisters, but apprentices or perhaps slaves, in service to the Magister Remiel, the conspirator we didn’t know.”

“Shit.”

“There might be an interesting wrinkle, though, seems Remiel has his eye on the throne of the Archon.”

“I wonder then, what the Archon thinks about this move by a rival.”

“I haven’t heard anything, but it can’t have gone unnoticed. In the last three days, both estates on either side of yours have been vacated, down to the last slave.”

“How long until Estwell arrives?”

“No more than two days, Magister.”

“And until this Remiel tries to take my holding in Minrathous?”

“I can’t honestly say. Perhaps the attacks are planned to be concurrent, if so, two days.”

“It’ll be longer.” 

Micah turned to look at Fenris. “Why do you say that?”

“I’m familiar with Remiel. He’s careful. He’ll wait to see what happens here.”

“If I rout Estwell, he’ll back off then?”

The elf shook his head. “No. He’ll adjust his strategy. Right now, he’s waiting for his forces to arrive, putting his pieces on the board. If he’d planned his assault to come at the same time as the one here, you’re place in Minrathous would already be under siege. It would take at least twelve mages, working for no less than three days, to break through the fortifications and spell-wards Danarius had placed on the estate.”

“Maker.” The amount of power, protection like what Fenris described, needed was unbelievably vast.

The elf nodded. “Since Remiel hasn’t moved against you yet, I’m confident it will be several more days before he does. I’m curious what he wants from you, though. His position in the Senate is as high as it can get, unless he manages to depose the Archon himself.”

Micah had been thinking about this for several days and she was fairly certain she knew. “He wants Danarius’ journals, the ones detailing the ritual. As well as access to the room where your ex-master performed it. It’s my understanding the room itself is of great importance.”

“What?” Goliath shied a bit beneath Fenris, but the elf calmed him with a hand to the big horse’s shoulder.

“I couldn’t destroy them. I tried, but they were bound in blood magic. The only way to unbind them would have been through the use of forbidden talents. So I had them locked inside a chest, which I then enchanted against every type of tampering I could think of and some I couldn’t. Lucky for me, Danarius’ library is vast.”

Fenris’ face was still tight with anger and a fierce frown but he said nothing else. 

“That makes sense. These blighted magisters only ever seem to want more power and influence.” Henley shook his head.

“Wishing you’d never agreed to come to Tevinter, Lieutenant?” Hawke smiled softly at the man. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

The knight laughed. “Never, Magister Accipiter, I think the Warden Commander is wiser than any might have guessed. My men and I have been here for almost a year now and in that year I’ve learned most of what the Chantry says about the Imperium is flat out wrong. And I’ve sent that knowledge back to Amaranthine.”

“You’ve also Silenced the Archon and lived to tell the tale.”

“And watched the Ferelden who became Champion of Kirkwall slay eight blood mages with a flash of lightning, while being almost naked and glowing brighter than any star. No, Magister, I don’t regret my decision at all.”

Fenris snorted and Henley cast the elf a curios look. 

“Don’t mind Fenris. He couldn’t believe I had the Archon Silenced in the first place.”

That drew a hearty chuckle from the lieutenant. “Me either, Wolf.”

* * *

Once they arrived at Lantarius, which Hawke said was as good a way to call the place as any, Fenris followed her and the lieutenant to the barracks. She watched the men practice for a bit before asking Fenris to assess their readiness.

The elf was impressed. “This force is better trained than any I’ve seen, aside from the Qunari. Most magisters have to pay mercenaries to fight for them, and a sell-sword’s loyalty is only to the one with the most gold. But that’s not the case here.”

Henley agreed. “It’s because of Accipiter. If she hadn’t offered not only pay, but her protection, I’m not sure even all my training could have rallied them under her banner so well. But she spent months visiting each of her holdings, culling the chaff, removing anyone who wouldn’t abide her rule, and opening her doors to all who would, no matter age, slave or free man, mage or not.”

Fenris watched Micah bend down and ruffle the head of a boy who couldn’t be more than eight winters. The child gave her a gapped tooth grin before hurrying off with the small round shield in his hand toward the armory. “How can she be certain she’s gotten rid of all the bad eggs?”

“The first thing she does when she acquires a new property is offer freedom, along with coin and transportation from Tevinter, to any who want it. That goes a long way to earning the trust of those who choose to remain. Then she makes it clear she’ll have no slaves, nor will anyone in her care be treated as such. She sets a wage to each man and woman, a living wage too, not a pittance.”

“That must be expensive.”

Henley scowled. “She’s more money than she could ever need, and plenty of legitimate businesses that bring in healthy profits. She could pay the people three times what she does and never run dry of gold. But she isn’t offering them her pity or charity. They are her servants, they earn their pay, and if they choose to leave her employ, Magister Accipiter releases them with her blessing. She’s earned the loyalty of her people with respect and kindness.”

“I meant no offense.”

“Yes you did, but I can overlook it, Wolf, so long as you don’t repeat it. I know you’ve no love for the Imperium. But Accipiter is magister in title only. I’ve rarely met men with the kind of strength and bravery of that slip of a woman there, let alone a heart so big or an arm so ready to fight, and die, for what she calls her own. You, perhaps most of all, should have nothing ill to say of her.”

Fenris thinned his mouth, rightly castigated. Micah turned toward them and he schooled his features. 

“What do you think?”

“I think Estwell is an imbecile. The lieutenant has done an exceptional job. You’re men are ready.”

“Henley, I want you to select the six best among them and have the rest take posts around the property.”

“Magister?”

“I’ve decided I’m disinclined to wait for the magister to attack. We’re going to infiltrate his camp, tonight, and I’ll attempt to dissuade him from his path. If that doesn’t work, I’ll kill him.”

“It’s risky.”

“But doable. On the off chance I’m not able to end this thing before it starts, we’ll retreat here, which is why I want the men in position and ready.”

“Understood, Magister. I’ll attend your orders immediately.”

“Good. Now, I’ve been in this damnable armor much too long. I’m going inside. Let me know when you have everything in place.” 

* * *

Micah entered the house and was immediately attended by her personal maid. Jamela’s long elven fingers quickly divested her Mistress of the form-fitting leather and boots, passing them and the twin daggers off to her son, Kalem. “Straight to Magister’s rooms, Kalem.”

“He’s gotten so tall, Jamela!” Hawke slipped her arms into the sheer burgundy robe the maid held for her, knotting it before moving further into the house, toward the kitchens. She was famished.

“My boy just turned ten and two and the way he eats, he’s sure to be big as a house!”

Micah laughed, as her thoughts turned to Carver. “No, I think it’s a boy thing. When my brother started to become a man, he ate more than the rest of us combined. Mother was shocked, didn’t know how we’d stay fed, but Father just laughed. Where’s Anada?”

Lantarius’ steward had been hand-picked by Hawke and Mikla, as had all of the stewards at every one of Micah’s acquisitions. Each property’s steward was chosen for their intelligence, ability to read and accurately ply numbers was essential, as well as for their capacity to lead each household in Micah’s absence.

“She’s on her way, Magister. She moves a bit slower these days.”

Worry made Hawke’s brow pinch. “Is she alright? Jamela, you should have sent word to Minrathous if something happened.”

Her maid ducked her head, smiling. “No, Magister, Anada is fine.”

The two women approached the kitchen when a third met them, a short human with long mouse brown hair and soft amber-colored eyes. 

“Anada!” Micah felt the smile break over her face as she moved closer, hands fairly itching to caress the sizable bulge at the front of the tiny woman’s body. “You’re going to have a baby!”

The look of relief on Anada’s face was so profound Hawke felt a surge of anger. Not at her servant, but at the Imperium itself, for no matter how much she’d done to prove to her people she wasn’t like any they’d known before, she was reminded all too often how long a road she still needed to pave.

“You aren’t angry, Magister?”

“Of course not! I’m so happy for you and Brun. Come, let’s get into the kitchen and you into a chair.”

Hawke caught the look of warmth that passed between her companions, one filled with surprise and hope. She said nothing, merely held the door for the others, before taking a seat at the work table, thanking the scullery maid for the heaping plate she handed Micah.

“You look ready to deliver. How much longer?” Hawke spoke between mouthfuls of braised beef and potatoes.

“Only a week or two, at most.” The smile Anada had worn, slipped a bit. “I’ve drawn up a list of servants that will make you a good steward, Magister, unless that’s too forward of me, in which case, I apologize for my arrogance.” The human dropped her head, gaze to the floor, her pose repentant.

“Nonsense! Why would I want another steward?” Hawke was completely confused.

Anada lifted her head and though her gaze didn’t meet Micah’s, it lifted to the vicinity of her throat. “Magister?”

“You’re having a baby, Anada. I’m absolutely certain that doesn’t mean you can’t run this household. Of course, if you want an assistant, to help in the early months after the child comes, I will gladly agree. But I’ve no need to replace you, nor any desire.”

Hawke didn’t know how to react when the poor woman dissolved into tears. “Anada, sweetheart, why – Jamela, help her before she falls from the chair!”

The maid didn’t have time to respond before the kitchen door opened and Fenris stepped into the room and quickly to the mother-to-be’s side, one strong arm coming round her shoulders, the other hand pressed gently to her rounded stomach as he tried to hold the woman upright. 

Micah looked from Fenris and Anada, to an equally shocked looking Jamela, then back to the first pair. “Anada, do you not want to be the steward of Lantarius? That’s fine, no need to cry. If you want to stay here, we’ll find another position for you. I won’t be cross, I swear.”

This only made matters worse as Anada wailed louder and Micah jumped up from her seat, intent to shove Fenris out of the way and find out what was wrong. She knew women could be emotional when they bred, but this seemed beyond the norm. 

He shook his head at her, his eyes asking her to wait. “Slow your breaths, Anada. You don’t want to distress the babe.” Fenris’ voice was soft as he spoke to his burden. “Come now, slowly in through your nose.” His gaze flicked to the maid, “bring her some cool cloths to blot her face.” 

Jamela moved to do his bidding immediately.

“Fenris?”

“Give her a moment. Sometimes, Hawke, you’re a bit much to take.” He gave her a strange half-smile, part exasperation and part understanding.

The maid returned quickly and between her and Fenris, they managed to get Anada back to rights, though she continued to softly hiccough behind the towel.

“Please forgive me, Magister. I behaved so appallingly!”

“You haven’t trespassed, Anada, I’m only worried about you. Are you alright?”

Her soft amber eyes welled again, but Anada didn’t dissolve. Instead, she gave Micah a tremulous smile and nodded to Fenris, who stepped free of her. “I am fine, Magister. And I’d be honored to remain as your steward. With your permission, I’d like to find my husband now, though.”

“Anada, what,” at the woman’s beseeching look, Hawke sighed and smiled. “Of course, we can discuss this later, when you feel better. Give Brun my congratulations.”

Jamela helped Anada from her chair and the kitchen and Micah turned back to her supper, appetite gone. She shrugged and took the plate in hand, tossing the scraps into the compost crate before setting the dish next to the sink. She turned around, leaning against the basin to find Fenris watching her closely. 

No matter how strange the last few minutes had been, she couldn’t help but recall the elf’s quick appearance and the ease with which he’d offered comfort to Anada. And though part of Micah was unsettled by how _caring_ he was with the pregnant human, while he’d been little better than cold to her for most of their acquaintance, she refused to dwell on it. Instead, she wanted to know why Anada had been so upset in the first place.

“Will you tell me what just happened?”

The elf seemed at a loss for words, but Micah crossed her arms over her chest and waited. Finally, he speared a hand through his snow white hair, grumbling unintelligibly beneath his breath.

“When a slave gets pregnant, if it isn’t something specifically approved by the magister who owns them, most of the time the woman is fed abortion agents, often beaten – sometimes to death – and immediately sold or thrown out onto the street.”

“I feel sick.” Micah wouldn’t do that, ever.

“I think your sl- servant knew you wouldn’t do that, but she had no way to imagine how you might react. Even magisters that are _nicer_ to their possessions would have certainly had her removed from her position, likely stripped her of the child unless they thought keeping it would benefit them.”

Hawke’s jaw went slack. And these Imperial bastards called her people untamed. “That’s barbarous!”

“No doubt the generosity of your offer, from an assistant to giving her another position if she wished, was simply more than she had ever thought to expect.”

Micah hugged herself. “Will I never be able to overcome my status here?” 

She tried, through deed more than word, to show her servants that she valued them as people and not as possessions, but even in this thing – so small in Hawke’s estimation, letting her steward choose what the woman wanted to do – it seemed she failed to appreciate how each kindness she offered was likely more than any her people had ever known. 

She heard Fenris move closer but turned her face away, tears making her sight blurry. 

“With every bit of generosity, every offer of support and not pity, every demand that your people do their best while you do exactly the same, Hawke, you are changing their minds.”

“I didn’t mean to upset her so badly, though, I should have thought. But I didn’t. It never occurred to me she’d been worried I’d fire her or take her child. It should have.” She swallowed hard and pushed from the sink. “I don’t know any other way to be, but I suppose that’s part of the problem. I treat my people like I want to be treated, with respect and dignity. And I forget that for most of them, it’s been generations of slavery and an existence utterly dependent on the whims of their owner.”

She looked at him, her Fenris, before closing her eyes to rub against them with her fingers. 

“Given long enough, Hawke, the progress you make here, and elsewhere, might change that.”

She huffed and shook her head. “If the rest of the magisters leave me alone long enough, perhaps. I’m going to my chambers for a bit, Fenris. You’re free to do as you like. Not that it needs to be said, I’d simply like some time to myself.”

“I’ll retrieve you when Henley is ready.”

“Thanks.”

* * *

Fenris watched her go and wanted so badly to hold her close. He’d been outside the kitchen, eavesdropping on the conversation, and disgusted with himself when he’d felt surprise at Micah’s words to the pregnant human. He shouldn’t have been amazed, he’d known Hawke for years, been the benefactor of her nature more than once, but he’d still half expected her to be upset with the steward for doing something without Micah’s consent.

But no, Hawke had been happy for the woman, offered to ease her burdens, whatever the woman wanted really. As soon as he’d heard the wails, his feet had moved on their own, carrying him into the kitchen, his arms providing support without hesitation. _That_ was almost as shocking to Fenris, how naturally the motions came, but he knew how Anada felt, her world completely turned on end. Hawke really was a lot to deal with sometimes.

Still, it was the way Micah curled in on herself, angry at her ignorance, frustrated with this world so anathema to everything she believed and practiced in her life that made Fenris wish he could comfort her. She was doing the right thing. This incident with Anada would spread through the staff and she’d gain more trust, more respect, more loyalty than any kind word could have garnered. It was the necessary distress, though, that bothered Hawke the most, Fenris was sure. The mage would much rather bring about change without having people dissolve into incoherent sobbing, he had no doubt. 

He left the kitchen and wandered the halls of Lantarius. The home was well appointed and large, though nowhere near the size of Danarius’ home in Minrathous. As he walked, he found himself smiling. There were touches of Hawke everywhere, evidence she’d put the place in an order she found pleasing and not a reflection of its previous occupant. 

This was most clear in the large sitting room. The space had been stripped of all pomp. There was no unnecessary gilt on the walls or ceiling, nor any garish fabrics or overly ornate furniture. Everything was simple and warm, leaving the room welcoming and open, the drapes pulled apart to let in the bright sun and fresh air.

“This is one of her favorite rooms.”

Fenris whirled, startled by the deep voice. His brows rose high when he took in the man behind him. “Garaven?”

The human smiled. “I’m called Brun now. Is it really you, then, Fenris?”

The elf held his hand out to the male, who clasped him forearm to forearm. “It is. How did you end up here?”

“Magister Lantarius needed a good armorer, so Danarius traded me for several shipments of slaves, as well as access to the passages from here to the port.”

The name the half elf-half human gave finally registered in Fenris’ mind. “Brun? Then Anada is your woman?”

“She’s my wife, Fenris. Magister Accipiter herself signed the decree.”

Fenris shook his head. “Of course. Maker, Garaven – Brun, it is good to see a face I know.”

“I’m surprised, in truth. When Anada said an elf, branded like our magister, offered his strength when she fell apart, I couldn’t believe it. I knew you escaped, we all did, but I never thought to see you here, ever again.”

Fenris gave a small huff. “Nor did I ever think to return. But I refused to let her come back here without me.”

Brun was quiet, thinking over the elf’s words. “You’re the reason she’s here at all, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” Fenris looked away, gaze traveling the room. 

The other man understood Fenris would say no more. “You should have seen it, that first week Accipiter was here. She had all the grotesqueries removed, stripped every room almost to the wall studs. She sold everything that wasn’t tainted, had the rest destroyed. Then she split the money between all of her slaves.”

“Servants. Hawke will never own slaves.”

Brun dipped his head. “I apologize. It’s been strange, trying to unlearn a lifetime. But we try, hard, all of us, to understand.”

“Believe me, I know. Your wife, Anada, she is alright?”

Brun smiled. “Yes, she’s fine, overjoyed actually. Did Magister Accipiter truly offer to appoint her an assistant?”

Fenris nodded. “Indeed. Or give her another position, if she desired.”

“Truly amazing. It is… good to see you, Fenris. I feel better knowing you are at our magister’s side.” 

The elf watched the other man go, hiding the flinch his words caused. _Our magister_. The statement was true, but Fenris wasn’t sure what emotion he felt more at hearing them: anger at the very implication he belonged to a mage or the powerful need to truly _be_ Hawke’s.

He frowned as he left the sitting room.

 

Chapter Two

“You know, if the man had set his tent _with_ his men, as opposed to above and away from them, this would have been so much more difficult.” Micah could only shake her head at the arrogance, and likely ignorance, of the piece of shit who thought he could take what was hers.

“I’ve told you before the magisters believe nothing can harm them.” Fenris’ low-pitched voice came close to her ear. “And I’ve told you to wear more damn clothes.”

Hawke snorted. “My skin hurt too bad to put the armor back on. I’m of little use to anyone, least of all myself, if I can’t function because of the pain. Stow your prudishness somewhere else, Fenris, and be thankful I’m not naked.”

This drew a very soft snicker from Henley and at least two of the other men, which of course led to Fenris cursing. Really, if he sent her any more mixed signals, she was going to have to start embarrassing them both and just flat-out demand he explain what the hell was going on.

But now was not the time. Instead, she gestured Henley and the six men he’d chosen to take position closer to the magisters tent before turning to the elf at her side. “We need to take them out simultaneously. The rear guard first, then the front.” She pointed at the four men. “I’d prefer not to kill them, but I don’t see another option. While I can send one to sleep, you cannot. Unless you have a trick up your sleeve I’m not aware of?”

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t know any quick, non-lethal maneuvers.”

“So be it. They shouldn’t have joined up with Estwell in the first place. This is almost too easy, Fenris.” If the elf had to take a life, so would she. Micah wouldn’t have him bearing the burden alone.

“So it seems. Are you ready?”

She nodded and they made their way to the two men patrolling the back of the magisters encampment, the elf positioned at one end of the clearing, Hawke on the other. As her guard drew close, and made a turn, she stepped from the shadows, called the lyrium to life, and shifted her hand into the back of his skull, snapping his spinal cord from his brain. The man dropped instantly, but Micah managed to catch him before he hit the ground, passing the body off to one of Henley’s men as planned.

She looked across the clearing and saw Fenris do the same, his target’s heart lying in the dirt at the elf’s feet. She shook her head and wondered if Fenris could _only_ phase into chests or if he simply liked doing it. He must have felt her gaze because he lifted his face before using finger motions to suggest they proceed. 

Hawke nodded and slipped into the shadows again, very glad she’d decided to wear the abbreviated outfit Isabela had fixed her, as there was no sound of cloth moving against cloth, and nothing to snag on the brush as she took aim at her second mark and struck, fast, silent, the man breathing one moment, dead the next.

Henley himself relieved her of her burden. After one final check of the clearing, certain there was no one but her and her men, Micah approached the flap of the large, ornate, and utterly ridiculous tent.

“I want that mongrel bitch in chains, do you hear me? Adorn her with the collar of a _saarabas_ , but do not touch her otherwise.”

“Yes, Magister.” 

Hawke looked at Fenris, saw his lip curl with fury a moment before his lyrium sang to hers. Brands ignited, they pushed through the flap, with Henley and his men on their heels, the Silver Order knight sending out a Silence without hesitation.

Micah drew her pointy, miniature staffs, heard Fenris give the poignantly familiar war cry, and lost herself in the rhythm of battle. Stripped of magic, the magister and two mages with him cowered at the back of the tented space, while Hawke and the elf tore through the armored men between them and their goal.

Blood splashed her face as she ripped the wolf in her right hand across the neck of the soldier nearest her. Lyrium flared blinding white, a moment before Micah whirled, the hawk finding purchase in the belly of the next combatant, disemboweling the screaming man. He fell to his knees, and she cut off his cries with a fist through his face.

A third ran for her, sword ready to plunge through Micah’s body, and she watched, transfixed as Fenris spun, brutal grace in motion, his greatsword arcing through the man, cutting from side to side, splitting the soldier in two between one step and the next.

Henley and his men spread out, flanking Micah, as she slowly shifted from Fenris’ magnificent ferocity, to face the cowering bodies of Estwell and his underlings.

Fenris roared again the sound accompanied by the wet sucking of lyrium phased flesh plunging deep, ripping the life from the last of the combatants. Hawke heard the men behind her shift in their armor, heard one mutter, “maker,” softly. Between their ‘Accipiter’ and her wolf, the room had been emptied of sword men in but a few minutes and Micah had no doubt she was painted with blood from head to foot, brands glowing like blue fire.

“Magister Estwell, I presume?”

The man huddled at her feet and suddenly, she had no interest in mercy. Leaning down, she plunged her right hand into the throat of the grotesquely fat, putrid-smelling man clad in gaudy robes of black velvet and gold, embedded with precious gems, and lifted him clear from the floor, one hand phased through his neck, holding him by his spine.

His sycophants squealed like piglets and tried to run, but Henley’s men ended them with no more effort than it took to lift a blade. Their magic blocked, they were nothing, and in Hawke’s mind, with their magic they were worth even less.

She looked deep into the bulging eyes above her and marveled at how little effort the act of holding him aloft cost her for a moment. “You should have listened to your Archon, Magister.”

And then she shook him like a rag doll and tore a fist sized chunk of his spine from his body.

* * *

Henley was sent to Qarinus to fetch a Black Templar or an Enchanter, someone to oversee the exchange of Estwell’s power and property to Micah, while she, Fenris, and Henley’s men waited until daybreak to deal with the assembled battalion.

His eyes followed her as she approached the edge of the magisters encampment, making certain she was in full view of the men positioned below her, before she spoke.

“Your magister is dead. I am Accipiter. Any sell swords among you are dismissed; your services are no longer needed.” She called her brands and there was a flurry of movement as the paid men gathered their belongings and left.

Fenris watched the scene until only two dozen or so men remained. They didn’t look like much, maybe of few of them showing any sign of intelligence. Thankfully, they weren’t blood thralls, though they didn’t appear to be in much better health.

“Those of you who are free men may leave as well, or if you like, you may apply to serve me. If that’s your choice, return to your home and I’ll meet with you when I make my way there. Any slaves among you are to report to Lantarius. Do I make myself clear?” Her voice carried on the morning air, strong and powerful.

“Yes, Magister.” The crowd began to disperse and Micah called one of her men to her. “See to it the slaves get back to the estate in one piece. I want them bathed, given clean clothes, and a hot meal. You can put them in the old slave quarters, outside the main house, until I return. Keep them inside, but gently.”

The man put his fist to his heart and bowed his head. “Daniels, come with me.”

“Magister, the lieutenant returns!”

Fenris watched her take in her appearance for the first time since she’d destroyed Estwell. Her lips pinched with revulsion, but she hid the reaction quickly. As his gaze traveled her form, Fenris thought he’d never seen a beauty more terrible, more visceral, more magnetic than the woman who stood beside him.

There was large patches of drying blood on her cheek, neck, across her chest, then mixed with other things in a long smear over her exposed stomach. But she faced the Enchanter and his Templar companion as if dressed in finery. Chin up, lifting a brow at their approach.

“Magister Accipiter, your man says you slew Magister Estwell.”

“His body is in the tent, if you’d like to see it.”

The mage took a quick look but was obviously disinclined to poke around inside. He turned back to her and they spoke the necessary words but instead of toddling back from whence he came, his narrow, hungry gaze locked on Fenris.

“Is this the lyrium beast of Magister Danarius?”

Hawke reacted before Fenris could stop her. Blue-white fire tore over body and she grabbed the mangy little bastard round the throat before he even finished speaking Fenris’ ex-master’s name. When his Templar attempted to step in, Henley and his men reminded the fellow he’d be better served to stand very still. 

“Do not look at Fenris. Do not speak of him. Do not even _think_ about him. If you want to live, you will not speak Danarius’ name in my presence ever again. Do you understand?”

The enchanter made a gurgling noise, eyes wide with terror, hands flailing in supplication. She dropped the mage, her brands extinguishing as she stepped around the hacking body.

“We’re done here.”

Fenris’ body vibrated with the shock of what he’d just seen. It reminded him of the moment when Hadriana’s men had attacked them on the Coast and she’d bellowed that he was a free man. She defended him with no thought to herself. Not simply that, her reaction had been almost reflexive – she hadn’t thought of anything but protecting Fenris, blatantly threatening an enchanter of the black circle, in full view of his Templar guard. Hawke made it clear she would kill not just the enchanter, but anyone, if they believed it wise to go against her with regard to the elf.

True to her statement, the entire group quit the encampment immediately. As they made their way through back to her estate, Fenris hurried to catch up with her. He had to say something, tell her something, just look at her face, touch her and prove this was really happening.

“Hawke, a moment.”

She paused, nodding to Henley and his men to continue on. “What is it, Fenris? Oh, please, tell me I didn’t trespass an important Imperial edict or law. I’m sorry, I didn’t think. The way he looked at you, what he _said_ , I refused to allow it.”

“No, Hawke. He is a circle mage, you a magister of some repute, he should have known better than to say anything about me. Unless you invited his commentary.”

She sagged with relief. “Thank the Maker. I’d managed to convince myself attacking him would mean someone would show up, demand I turn you over or something. I was trying to figure out how many people I was going to have to kill to make it clear you aren’t going anywhere.”

Fenris shook his head. This woman was unbelievable. Yet again, it wasn’t worry for her, but him that had her hands twisting with anxiety. “No. Although the only way you could have made it more quickly known that I am in your company would have been to pay a crier to run through the streets.”

His attempt at humor failed. All color drained from Micah’s face. “Shit.”

“Hawke, I was joking. Sort of.”

“Seriously, Fenris, not even remotely funny, especially when I know it’s the truth.” She swallowed hard and turned away from him. “Come on. I need a fucking bath.” She looked at him over her shoulder and curled her lip. “And so do you. Maker, it’s no wonder I stopped throwing myself into the melee. It’s filthy.”

He smirked. “But fun.”

* * *

“Jamela?” Hawke sighed, the heat of the bath easing her aches, the slickness of the water so good against her skin. She felt pressure, but very little pain, supported by the buoyant fluid. Being in a deep bath was almost as good as having Fenris hold her hand.

At least for a little while. Eventually though, her skin would prune, overhydrated, and then the pain would return, as it always did, as she was beginning to think it ever would.

“You’re maid left.”

The elf’s voice startled her and Hawke lurched forward, bringing her knees up, legs held tight together by her arms wrapped ‘round them. Breasts pressed to her thighs. Her sudden modesty was ridiculous, really, the man had seen her naked, though not since she’d helped Anders and Justice. Unless one counted the night they’d left Kirkwall, but even then, she’d been dressed so quickly, and Fenris only partially awake, she didn’t think that counted.

“What are you doing here?” She looked over her shoulder, relieved he had his back mostly to her.

“I only came to ask when you plan to head to Minrathous. But your maid must have thought… I believe they presume I am your body slave.”

“My body- wait, does that mean what I think it means? And what in the void would make them think you’re my _slave_ at all. I will have no slaves!” She pressed her cheek to her knees, rocking forward a bit and anger heated her blood.

“In the Imperium the only difference between a body guard and a body slave is their position in the magisters bed. As to why they’d believe that, it may be my doing.”

“Your doing?” Micah couldn’t have been more flabbergasted if he’d stepped naked into the bath with her.

“Your steward’s man, Brun? I saw him this afternoon and recognized him as Garaven, Danarius’ armor smith. He asked if I was the reason you’d come to Tevinter and I told him yes. It seems, Hawke, everyone but I am astute enough to know how much,” he paused, hesitated before going on, “esteem you hold me in.”

 _Love, Fenris, how much I love you, idiot._ “I see. Well, we can disabuse them of that notion quite easily. Call Jamela back, would you? I’d like help with my hair, there’s all sorts of nastiness in it and it’ll be easier to get clean with another doing the washing.”

“I can wash your hair, Hawke.” He sounded irritated by her request.

“I didn’t say you weren’t able to, Fenris. I said I would like Jamela to do it.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’ll wash your hair while you tell me when we leave for Minrathous and what your plan is once we arrive.” The sound of his metal clawed gauntlets hitting the floor made her shiver, fear and desire in balanced doses.

“Fenris, rea- Ack! Bastard!” She coughed as water rushed over her head, spluttering it from her mouth, hands going to push the now soaked strands from her face.

“Minrathous.” He prompted.

The smell of honeysuckle teased her nose and she tensed when the elf began to apply the bar of hair soap to her filthy locks. His movements were brusque, but not harsh, and soon enough warm fingertips began to kneed her scalp, nails scraping lightly.

Her whole body relaxed and she hummed contentedly. 

“Hold your breath.”

She closed her eyes and complied as warm water rinsed away the soap, once, twice. When he started to wash a second time, Micah decided she never wanted to clean her own hair ever again. She moaned, she couldn’t help it, when the force of his fingers turned firmer. Maker, Fenris was really good at hair washing.

“Hawke?”

“Hmm?”

“The capital, when are we leaving? Focus woman.” There was a hint of a smile in his tone and languid as she felt, Hawke couldn’t help but grin in response.

“Late tomorrow afternoon, I s’pose. I need to handle the Estwell’s slaves and I want to make sure Anada has everything she needs, since I likely won’t return here for several months. Oh, Fenris, that’s so good!”

His fingers stopped and she blushed, realizing how lasciviously her words sounded, but she didn’t apologize. He deserved to be a little uncomfortable, considering he was the one who chose to play her maid.

“Uh, right. I assume we’re taking ship?” 

“Yes. It’ll be quicker than traveling by land. Isabela said we could be there in little more than a day.”

“Henley and the men he sent with you to Kirkwall will be along? Hold your breath again.”

His fingers scrubbed against her scalp, making certain all the soap was gone, and Micah waited until he poured a final bucket over her before replying. “Matheson and Wilson will stay at Lantarius. Henley trusts his captain here, but in the event things in Qarinus are unsettled when we leave, the lieutenant agrees having men with experience fighting mages on hand is a good choice.”

“Are your soldiers here not trained in Templar arts?”

She laid her face against her knees again, but shifted in the tub a bit so she could see Fenris. “Those with latent magical talent, yes, but not all have it. And despite how dedicated they may be, most of my people have never gone against the will of a magister, or even thought to, in their lives. Having men here that don’t fear mages, more than any other well-equipped enemy, will bolster the soldiers should they have to fight.”

“I take it this decision was more yours than Henley’s?”

Micah lifted a brow. “Why do you say that?”

“Because, Hawke, you understand people in a way I’ve never seen before.”

She shrugged lightly. “I asked his opinion, but yes, it was my idea.”

“An excellent one, as I’m sure your lieutenant already mentioned.”

She flashed a grin at him before fidgeting in the water. She needed to rinse the remnant soap and get out of the bath, the pain of the brands building once more. “I need to get out of the tub, Fenris.”

His eyes turned darker and a flush stained the tips of his ears. She bit her lip as she watched him rise and retrieve his gauntlets. “I’ll await you in the bedchamber.”

She started to tell him not to bother, but he left without pause. Scowling, she flung water over her back and sides, before stepping from the basin. With gritted teeth, she patted her body as dry as she could with the clean towel Jamela placed nearby, then pressed the thing to her front, tucking an edge beneath each arm, as she stepped from the bathing room.

Unlike Kirkwall, or Rivaini’s boat, or even the home in Minrathous, this house had no silk sheets. Micah had been too busy when she’d arrived the first time to bother with ordering new bedclothes. Her plan had been to lay naked atop the well-worn, down-filled comforter she’d had the maid place on the bed. Yes, having Fenris with her meant the pain would be a distant thing, but after a week in very close quarters and nowhere to escape to, Hawke needed a break from him. Isabela had been very right about one thing: the sexual tension was killing her.

“Fenris, you can’t stay in here.”

“I thought we were done arguing this. You need rest, so where you sleep, I sleep.”

She pulled her gaze from him as he undid his chest piece. All that wonderful, dark skin, laid bare, it was too much temptation, _he_ was too much temptation. “I don’t plan on sleeping, so there you have it.”

“And what did you plan to do?”

She blinked slowly and though sheer force of will didn’t turn to look at him as the low, huskiness of his voice caressed her from head to toe. “Think, probably read.”

He sighed. “You can do that tomorrow when we are on the sea.”

Irritation and frustration overrode her sense. She turned to look at him, eyes narrowed. “Look, Fenris, are you being purposefully obtuse? Because I’m finding it terribly taxing right now.”

“Obtuse?” He looked genuinely confused, which only served to increase her ire.

“Dense. Naïve, maybe, certainly painfully unaware, or pretending to be.”

“I am no such thing, Hawke, not any of what you’re saying.”

“Then why do you always make me spell everything out? For once, would you simply take the hint!” She shouted at him then clutched at the towel to hold it in place when the agitated movements threatened to uncover her.

“I might if I had a clue what you were trying to say!” His voice was raised but not quite a shout, the frown on his face dark.

“I need some space from you, alright.” 

“I will sit in the chair, Hawke. I wouldn’t presume-“

“That’s the Maker-be-damned point! I’m,” she paused, trying to find a diplomatic way to express her thoughts. A low growl rose unbidden as Hawke's exasperation grew because there she was _yet again_ about to blatantly expose an unspoken thing between them.

“ _In need_. You _want_ me.” His voice was very soft, but when her gaze sought his face, his expression was not. 

There was such an intensity riding his features, she trembled. And his eyes, those evergreen eyes, were stormy, hot, potent.

“Yes.” She whispered the reply, a flush blooming on her cheeks at the longing she heard in that single word.

“I will give you what you desire.”

Quick as a blink, her spine straightened. Hot anger and a horrible, painful cold so sharp, it stabbed Micah between her breasts, turned her rigid. He would _give_ her this thing she wanted, what he likely felt he owed her. He would offer her his body, let her _use_ him.

“No,” she bit her lip, blinking rapidly to stop her rising tears, “no. Now get. Out!” Her voice broke and gripping the towel for all she was worth, Micah took the three or four steps needed to slip into the bathing room and out of the elf’s sight.

Her back pressed to the wall, Hawke shoved her fist against her mouth as the first tears fell. She didn’t make a sound beyond the occasional thick swallow until she heard the outer chamber door close. Even then, she continued to sob as silently as possible, soft whimpers the only testament to her misery.

 _Fenris,_ she thought, _I don’t need you to give me anything. I want you to choose to love me._

* * *

He’d hurt her, it was evident from the unnatural brightness in her eyes and the unrelenting lines of her body. He’d hurt her with his words and that had been the very last thing he’d intended. Fenris slipped down the wall next to her bedroom door, slamming his head none too gently against the plastered expanse behind him. 

Sinking onto his haunches, he took a pose identical to the one she’d had in the bath, while he washed her hair, and tried to understand what he’d done wrong. He thought agreeing to be with her, to lie with her, would have pleased Hawke, but that was not the case. Now, he was banished from her presence and his chest ached because of it.

 _”I will give you what you want.”_ He closed his eyes, his own words taunting him. 

Anger flushed his body. He wanted to storm back in, demand to know why she rejected him. It was as Isabela predicted, this thing between them had a will of its own and with every passing day it became more and more difficult for Fenris to be near Hawke without the need to taste her, to have her, driving him nearly to insanity.

They both wanted it, why had she refused? Hawke was not a cruel woman, surely she knew- And like a spark of flint, Fenris replayed his words again and cursed himself a thousand times a fool. Micah had no idea how he felt because instead of telling her he wanted her more than his next breath, he’d told her he would do what she wanted. The words of a slave, of a man indebted, not the words of a man who longed to feel the press of her body against his.

Banging his skull against the wall again, Fenris brought one hand to his head, hiding his face against his knees. Hawke had hidden her feelings from him for years, but since she’d returned to Kirkwall, since he’d started to really see her, he learned to recognize the evidence of her desire, in every flick of her gaze, curl of her fists, tightening of her shoulders, and hitch of her breath. The way she grew flush and nibbled at her bottom lip, the softening of her eyes when he caught her looking when she thought he didn’t notice.

And though there’d been moments when his own raging hunger had pushed him beyond his control, as when he’d kissed her, Fenris realized he hadn’t told her, shown her, that she wasn’t the only one suffering this most intimate of punishments. The woman had been hurt because she felt he was offering to allow her have him, out of pity or duty it mattered not, instead of knowing he wanted to take her with every fiber of his being.

Fenris almost stood up, almost went into the room, but in the end he stayed where he was, back to the wall, face pressed to his knees, arms wrapped around his legs. If he went to her now, she wouldn’t believe him, Hawke was smart enough to know a body could react when a mind was unwilling and that was the crux of the problem. He had to make her understand his will was his own and he chose her.

 

Chapter Three 

She woke the next morning, hurting worse than she had in months, cold to her core on the tiled floor of the bathing chamber. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep, but she’d cried herself into exhaustion and as she hobbled into the bedroom Hawke noticed the light pink of dawn coming through the window coverings.

“So bawling myself into unconsciousness or holding Fenris’ hand is the only way to get more than an hour’s sleep at a time. Good to know.” She talked to herself because the room felt so empty, she needed some sound to dispel the shadows that lingered, both in truth and in her heart.

Micah had left most of her clothing on the boat and as she looked the ruined pieces of the outfit she’d worn the night before, she wished she hadn’t. The only other thing she had to wear was her armor, which was polished and ready on the stand near the door from the hall, and the burgundy robe.

With little choice, since she intended to wear the armor when they left the estate for the harbor, she grabbed the deep-red silk and tied the sash with an angry twist. Covered, at least, she set about detangling the rats’ nest of her hair, and had barely made any headway when the door opened. In the silvered glass of the small dressing table, she watched Fenris, still nude from the waist up, step inside.

A twinge of pain pinched her heart, but Micah kept her face impassive. His gaze met hers in the mirror, but she couldn’t read his expression. Praying silently they could move forward from the previous evening, but worried it might not be possible, she turned her attention back to her hair, gasping when the teeth of the pearl-handled comb caught, pulling a at a snarl.

“Here, let me, before you tear it all out.” 

She felt his hand on hers and hesitated before relinquishing the tool. Trying to relax, she cupped her chin in her palms; elbows bent on the tabletop, and watched him slowly remove the comb from her hair. He stood back, gaze assessing the mess, and then with delicate touches, began to put the strands to rights.

His fingers were careful as Fenris sorted small chunks of hair, brushing them from the ends toward her scalp, holding each piece tightly between the fingers of one hand. He pinched the locks, so that if he should catch a snag, he could prevent it from pulling at the root. Fenris had beautiful hair, and while Danarius had as well, Micah couldn’t imagine the elf combing his ex-master’s pate.

She must have looked curious when he caught her watching in the looking glass. A small smile played on his lips as he moved to a new section. “I remember brushing my mother’s hair and Varania’s too. I could braid it, if you like.”

“That’s not necessary, I can-“

“I want to, Hawke.” His voice was earnest and she bit her lip. “I like your hair. It’s an interesting color.”

She flushed at the compliment and dropped her gaze to the surface of the table. “Thanks. I used to hate it. Shit, when I was young I wished it was more like Aveline’s color. Being called ginger would have been a nice change of pace. This color of red is very rare, or so I’m told, especially outside Orlais.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen its like.” 

Micah relaxed, the steady rhythm of Fenris patient movements lulling, soothing. Her eyes drifted closed and she sighed. A soft knock came to the door, but she barely blinked her eyes open enough to see Jamela come in with a breakfast tray. The maid glanced at her Mistress and the lyrium branded elf, obviously surprised to see the half-dressed male tending to Hawke’s hair, but she said nothing.

Too soon, as calm and peaceful as Micah felt, Fenris set the comb down. He kept one hand, fingers buried deep in the thick mass atop her, at her crown. She felt him come down over her right shoulder, heard his free hands pulling at drawers, sifting through whatever things he found.

“There, that’ll do.”

As he began to warp and weft her hair, she opened her eyes to watch. His focus was on the work at hand, starting from the left side of her head, before pausing and turning to the right. His fingers moved quickly, the tawny digits braiding efficiently, with precision. Soon enough, he pulled a small red ribbon from the edge of his leggings. With one more, deft flick of his wrist, he stood back and nodded, obviously pleased with the job he’d done.

Micah sat back and turned her head from side to side, smiling. The weave was lovely, similar to one she’d seen in the hair of the titled ladies in Ferelden. “Fenris, it’s beautiful. Thank you.”

He ducked his head, but she caught the flash of a grin. “We should eat. You said you have errands to attend today.”

She ate while Fenris donned his armor and gauntlets, pushing a plate at him when he tried to refuse. Last night had been a mess, but today was a new day and Micah Hawke wasn’t the kind of woman to dwell, so long as she could avoid it. Whatever peace was between them, she’d see it remain as long as possible.

First things first, she left the main house for the old slave quarters. 

“How are they?”

Wilson shook his head. “The men are in bad shape, Magister. They, I-“

“What is it?”

“I think some of them are too broken, Accipiter.”

Micah shook her head, she refused to believe that. “Open the door, if you please.”

She curled her hands to fight their shaking. The slaves treated the poorest were the hardest for her to face. It tore at her spirit to see them, so haggard and abused there was often nothing left of them to spare. These she sent to her largest holding, in a city called Mirothius, which sat at the base of The Hundred Pillars, a mountain rage along the eastern border of the Imperium. The magister, whom Micah couldn’t recall, had bred slaves there, but also used his many acres to grow the grapes used to produce Fenris’ favorite wine.

Hawke chose that place as a sanctuary for the slaves she couldn’t reach. The household staff was trained healers, with magic or herb. Those she sent to Mirothius worked in the fields, or pressing the grapes, meaningful labor that took little thought. And if they couldn’t work, if they were so lost inside they could only sit and stare, then Micah made sure they were tended with care and dignity.

She felt the touch of a hand and looked down to find Fenris’ palm encircling her fist. She looked at him, saw concern in his gaze but support too, and she nodded. The doors opened and they stepped inside. There was a clamor as the men fell to the floor, faces pressed to the wood, and she fought to maintain her composure. The feel of Fenris’ thumb against the back of her hand steadied her.

“Please, rise. My name is Accipiter and I am like no magister you have ever known…”

It took about an hour, and when Micah and Fenris left the building, she gave Wilson instruction on moving eight of the men to Mirothius. Sadly, none of the rest wanted freedom, though Hawke hadn’t expected any would.

Returning to the main house, Micah found her steward in the small library, sitting at the desk Hawke used, when she’d been here before, to take care of the business of being a magister.

“Anada, fourteen of the men I acquired last night will be remaining at Lantarius. Some of them have experience in smithing. The rest I’d like put in positions in the stables or in the orchards. I think they’ve spent more than long enough fighting.”

Anada bobbed her head. “Yes, Magister, I’ll inform Brun. Accipiter, I’ve chosen an assistant.”

“Who?” Hawke smiled at the woman.

“Jamela.”

“Oh, Anada, I think that’s a perfect choice. Not only can she help carry the burden of stewardship, but she’s raised a lovely son.”

The little human blushed at the praise, then pressed a hand to her belly. “Oh! That was a good one.” She chuckled softly, rubbing a spot to the right of her navel.

“May I?” Hawke moved closer, one hand reaching tentatively.

“Of course, Magister.”

Micah smiled, her cheeks pinching the grin was so broad. The small human took Hawke’s hand and guided it to her large stomach.

Something firm pressed back against her palm and Micah laughed. The sound bounced delightedly off the high walls of the room. The babe seemed to respond to her happiness because she felt it shift away before giving another hard thump as it kicked out. “It’s been forever since I felt a baby move, I can barely remember. It’s so wonderful!” She turned to Fenris. “Oh, Fenris, you should feel it! So precious, so much life!”

Her smile softened a bit at the look of awe on the elf’s face. Looking up at Anada, she lifted her brow in question. The woman hesitated, flashed a glance at Fenris, then nodded.

Without asking his permission, Hawke took hold of his arm and pulled him close.

“Take off your gauntlet.”

“No, Hawke, I –“

“Fenris, take it off. Please.” 

He looked ready to run away, but did as she asked. When his fingers were free, she guided him to Anada’s belly and the baby beneath the skin, still rolling and kicking happily. Lifting her hand, she pressed his palm to the woman’s clothed belly, then put her hand over his and watched with delight as his eyes widened.

The baby kicked and Fenris jerked, then laughed and pushed back against the foot. The three of them didn’t stand there long, but Hawke’s heart was full to bursting when she bid her steward goodbye, laying a kiss to the smaller woman’s cheek and making her promise to send a letter as soon as the baby was born.

“Thank you, Magister. You are so good to me. To us all.”

Micah smiled. “No more than you are to me. I hate to leave, but I have to get to the capital. Wilson and Matheson are staying here and if there is any trouble, send word immediately, Anada. If I can’t come myself, I’ll send the Silver Order with speed.”

“Be careful, Accipiter.” The human woman gripped her hand tightly, but Hawke fought the wave of pain the action brought her.

Micah didn’t reply. She couldn’t offer the woman any guarantees and refused to pretend otherwise.

* * *

Micah and Fenris slept for most of the trip to Minrathous and Isabela was happy to let them. While they traversed the sea, she spoke with Henley, who filled her in on the fight with Estwell as well as Hawke’s rather frightening, according to the lieutenant, display when another mage had dared to look at Fenris.

“I know there’s something between them, but-“

Isabela smirked. “Sweetie, there is absolutely something between them. And there’s only two things you should know about it. One, Hawke will kill anyone who tries to harm even one hair on that elf’s head. Two, she will die for him if that’s what it takes to keep him safe and free.”

Henley frowned. “And him? The Wolf?”

Isabela pressed a finger to her chin. She thought back over all the years she’d spent with Hawke and her merry band of followers. Replayed battles and skirmishes, nights drinking and playing cards, the quiet in-between times, wandering the Coast or Sundermount. “Whether Fenris realizes it or not, he cares for Hawke. He’ll protect her, never question that and he’d certainly die defending her.”

“He’s awfully prickly.”

Isabela laughed out loud. “You’ve no idea, Henley. A dear friend of ours nicknamed him Broody for a reason.”

“Captain, I wonder if I might ask a favor of you?” Henley shifted, his plate armor clanking softly.

“You might, but I make no promises.”

“Wilson and Matheson reported the circle of the Magister’s acquaintance. It’s my understanding the aside from you, there’s a dwarf merchant of some note, an ex-Grey Warden, an ex-Dalish First, an exiled Prince, and the captain of the city guard.”

“Yep, that about sums us up.”

“Do you think, if the Magister needed it, any of the others would make their way here to lend her aid?”

Bela didn’t even hesitate. “Without question. Well, Choir Boy, that’s the prince, he might hem for a moment, but he’d come.”

“Good. I already sent a letter to the Warden Commander and asked her to send me another battalion of men.”

“You think it’s going to be that bad?” Isabela stood up from where she’d been leaning over the side of the boat and faced Henley.

“Yes.”

“Hawke wants me to hold in Minrathous, for a week, maybe two. After that, I’ll head straight for Kirkwall. The guard-captain may not be able to leave, but I can return with the rest as quickly as possible. It would be almost a month, though.”

The Lieutenant nodded. “I know, but I feel like Magister Accipiter will need to see the faces of her family before she enters the Senate chambers, if only to remind herself she’s not alone.”

“Then consider it done.” Bela gave the man a smile and a quick slap on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun.”

“I think your idea of fun and mine are worlds apart, Captain.”

Isabela laughed. “Let me tell you about the most fun I ever had with Hawke. This bastard I used to work for, Castillion…”

* * *

The city of Minrathous rose above the sea like a dark crown and Fenris shuddered at the sight. As Hawke and company made their way through the city, he struggled to keep the bile in his throat from escaping his mouth. Maker, he never wanted to set foot in the heinous place again. Yet as he walked slightly behind Hawke, eyes vigilant of the passing bodies, looking for any threat, he knew he’d made the right choice. It was time for him to put his past behind him, for good.

When they neared the gates of Danarius’ compound, Fenris faltered, his will weak at the prospect of entering the place that had been home to his every nightmare, each torture, the great walls keeping silent the horrible things they’d witnessed.

“Fenris?” Hawke reached out for him, took his hand in hers, and laced their fingers together. “I’m here. Nothing will hurt you. I swear it.”

He looked down at their hands and felt her strength pour into him. Tightening his hold, he strode through the massive iron fence, Micah by his side. He didn’t let go of her as they advanced on the front door, nor even when they filed into the great hall. His breathing was unsteady as he looked around at what had once been his prison.

Nothing was the same. As with her home in Lantarius, the place had been scrubbed clean the taint of the magister before Hawke. It was mid-morning and all the curtains were open, the doors onto the gardens ajar. Fresh flowers decorated the mantel of the large fireplace and servants bustled about, smiles on their faces and laughter in the air.

The furniture was modest and sparse. No more were their paintings of terrible things or statues of unnatural acts; no longer were the floors the color of blood so the stains of the real thing wouldn’t show. A honey wood gleamed beneath his feet, and there were no decorations aside from sconces on the walls.

“Are you alright?” She squeezed her fingers against the back of his hand.

He took a deep breath and turned so he could fully face her. The horrible weight of his fear abruptly fell away and he smiled. “I am better than alright, Hawke.”

“Wo-Wolf?” A voice carried his name on a shaky note.

Fenris turned toward the sound and spied a boy of maybe ten and seven or eight. He frowned for a minute, thinking the human blooded elf seemed a bit familiar.

“Is it… really you, Wolf?”

He looked at the face, stared into eyes he hadn’t seen in more than seven years, and Fenris staggered from Hawke’s grip. “Mikla?”

The young man dropped the papers in his hands and ran toward Fenris and the elf found his own feet tearing across the distance between him and the boy he’d left behind.

He stumbled when their bodies collided, arms wrapping around shoulders broader than his own, emotions choking his throat, stinging his eyes. The boy fought to wrap himself around Fenris even harder than the elf, Mikla’s face buried in Fenris’ neck, the hot slide of tears coursing over his skin.

“Fenris!”

Pressing one steel covered hand to the back of a head familiar and unchanged, Fenris let the tears come, hugging the body in his arms for all he was worth. “Mikla, Mikla.” Words began to spill from his lips, begging the young man’s forgiveness, over and over again.

Mikla sobbed harder. “You left me!”

“I know, I didn’t want to, Mikla, you must believe me. You were the only good thing I knew, after the brands.”

“I loved you! I thought you were dead!”

Something broke free in Fenris’ chest, and he clutched the boy harder. Syllables were torn from him, fighting with a ferocity that shook Fenris to be free, to be given life. “I love you too, Mikla. I never stopped. Please, you must forgive me for not coming for you.”

“I do! I do!”

The next several moments were filled with more tears, more almost savage embraces, and finally, with laughter and light as Fenris pulled away, not far, to see the boy he’d known as the man he was now. “You’re bigger than I am.”

“You still make me feel small. And you look exactly the same.”

“What do you do here?” Fenris bent to help the lad retrieve his papers.

“I’m Magister Accipiter’s steward. Actually, I’m the head steward of all her holdings. And soon, I hope, her apprentice.”

“Her apprentice?” Fenris couldn’t help the tiny frisson of distaste that coursed through him.

Either Mikla didn’t notice or he chose not to comment. “Yes. Her apprentice. Accipiter is a good mage. She’ll teach me the right way to wield my power. Danarius only taught me enough so that I wouldn’t accidentally cast. I need training and she offered to give it.”

Fenris nodded. It was clear Mikla was very fond of Hawke and that he would defend her, even to the Wolf. “Where is Hawke?”

A small woman stepped close, head bowed. “The Magister retired to her suite. She said to let you two be, for as long as you needed.”

“Thank you, Anna. Please, let the staff know Accipiter is in residence, if they don’t know already.” Mikla held an arm out to Fenris. “If you follow me, I’ll show you to her private quarters.”

As they traveled halls he’d once known in his sleep, Fenris could only shake his head at how very changed the place was. If he hadn’t been guided by Mikla, he would have lost his way, for none of the old landmarks remained. As they slowed, though, familiarity struck Fenris and he put his hand to the young man’s arm.

“Does she know?”

Mikla shook his head. “No and I didn’t tell her. She chose this room on her own.”

Fenris shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was, because the rooms Hawke took were the very rooms where he and Mikla had been housed. They were near the master suite, but far enough away that travelling from Danarius’ rooms to his own would be an agony. It was a path he’d traversed many times.

Mikla knocked and the door opened, a young elven girl stepping through, pulling the door closed behind her.

“The Magister asked for some time alone. I drew her a bath, but she seemed really upset, Steward. Did I do something wrong?”

Mikla turned to Fenris. “She didn’t tell you I was here, did she?”

The elf shook his head, but could find no anger. “No and in truth she hasn’t had an opportunity.”

Mikla lifted a brow. “I wasn’t implying she kept it secret. Accipiter gets no satisfaction from hurting others.” The steward turned back to the girl. “Go fetch Alana.” The child nodded and took off down the hall.

“Alana?” Fenris was more than happy for a change of subject. It chafed him that twice now Mikla had seemed disappointed in him.

“She’s the head of the house and often acts as Accipiter’s maid. They are friends.”

“I will speak to Hawke, there’s no need to call for another.” Fenris made to move to the door, but Mikla stepped between him and the door.

“No, Fenris. She needs some time.”

The elf frowned. “She’s being silly.”

Mikla lifted a brow, and the look was so familiar to Fenris he had to blink a couple of times. He’d seen the exact same look reflected in glass from his own face. 

“Right now, she’s likely beating herself up for not telling either of us that we’d be reunited. She’ll think we believe her uncaring, that she didn’t consider how emotional such a thing would be. Even though that isn’t the truth, Accipiter is sometimes too willing to shoulder every burden. So I will send Alana to her and the woman will ease her, get her to see the truth of it. She is almost as good at reading people as the magister.”

This was ridiculous. There was no reason for Hawke to think he was angry with her, let alone for her to lock herself away and weep over it. He pushed at Mikla, determined to make Micah see sense.

“No, Fenris.” The boy’s jaw tightened and he stood firm.

And the elf was proud of him, so proud. With a sigh, he relented, then clapped the young man on his shoulder. “If I can’t get to Hawke, then I suppose you should show me around, and tell me what I’ve missed. Good and not.” He tightened his hold briefly. “Mikla, I have thought of you every day. I cannot begin to atone for my cowardice, but I would like the chance to get to know you again.”

The boy cleared his throat and managed a smile. “I would like that… brother.”

“Yes,” Fenris smiled and blinked at the sting in his eyes. “My brother.”

 

Chapter Four

Hawke listened at the door, and shook her head. Mikla was right. She did feel a terrible guilt at having failed to tell Fenris the boy was alive and safe. And yes, she thought Fenris might be angry with her, for not giving him time to better prepare. He was ever controlled, so stoic, so cool and remote.

But the reason she’d been on the verge of tears had nothing to do with any blame there was or was not to be had. No, it was because she had never seen the elf the way she’d just had the opportunity to and she was overwhelmed with gratefulness and love, even as her heart broke just a little. Micah’s breath had stalled in her chest when Mikla had run for Fenris and the elf had moved toward the boy, arms wide to embrace the younger man.

There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation. Fenris had grabbed Mikla into his hold and nothing could have torn them apart. He’d cradled the boy’s head and begged forgiveness for a wrong he’d born endless guilt over. She knew it, because she knew the sound of his voice well, she’d heard the same tone in her own voice more times than she wanted to remember. Bethany, her Mother, even Arishok before she’d landed the killing blow.

Mikla, so overwrought, had sobbed and clung harder, babbling sometimes, then finally, crying out how much he loved the elf. And Fenris, voice harsh, rasping and thick with emotions, had tightened his hold and given the boy the same words in response. No pause. No holding back, just truth pouring out with his jubilation.

There was a swift rap of knuckles and Micah pulled away from the door. She moved slowly toward the bath, stepping into the basin as Alana entered the room.

“Accipiter, I wish you were returning under less stressful conditions.”

Micah shrugged and sank into the water. “Nothing for it, Alana. Is there any news at all?”

“A few more soldiers, Mistress, but other than that, no. Mikla thinks Magister Remiel will send an emissary soon.”

“An emissary? Whatever for?”

“When powerful magisters seem likely to come to open conflict, there is normally an attempt made, by either or both sides, to settle things amicably. It allows the magisters involved to acquiesce something without taking the chance they’ll die and lose everything. In truth, it has been many years since such an open affront has been made between members of the Senate Maioritas.”

“The what?”

“The senators with the highest status.”

“Wait, I mean, I understand I have some power and influence, of course. But I think I missed something. What, exactly, are you saying?”

“Mikla didn’t give you the letter?”

“What letter? No, Alana. Tell me what is going on.”

“Give me a minute, Accipiter, and I will get Mikla. He can explain better than I.”

The woman was gone before Hawke could stop her. Grinding her teeth, she tried to let the heat of the tub soothe her, but it did little to help her growing agitation. It seemed to take forever for Alana to return, with both Mikla and Fenris in tow.

“Shit.” With a growl she drew her knees up to cover herself. “Yes, please, everyone come in while I’m in the bath. No worries. Elf, keep your mouth shut. And close the door, if you don’t mind.” She narrowed her gaze at Fenris who smirked.

 _Ass._ “Mikla, what is this letter Alana is talking about?”

Her steward approached the tub, dragging the small stool from the dressing table with him. “It’s from the Archon himself.”

“Maker. When did it arrive?”

“The week after you left Minrathous, but the missive made it clear you didn’t need to make a decision until after the Senate reconvened. I chose not to mention it and that’s probably why all of this is happening.” He ducked his head, shame staining his features.

“Mikla, if I didn’t trust you to do what you thought best, I wouldn’t have left you to steward all my holdings. Tell me what the letter says.”

“You’ve been asked by Archon Nemoran to accept the position of First Enchanter to the Imperial Circle, Magister Accipiter.”

“Bullshit.” She scoffed and looked around at the others, but did not see any humor in a single face. “What? I mean, I’ll admit, the other one seemed to be getting a bit old, but he was well enough breathing when last we met.”

“He died the week you sailed to Kirkwall.”

“I have never heard of anything like this ever happening.” Fenris leaned against the door, arms crossed over his chest.

“It is unorthodox, but there is some precedent, admittedly from Nomaran’s time, some two hundred years ago.” Mikla glanced up at the other man.

“The Magesterium would never allow a female Archon.”

“Maybe not, but Nemoran is a shrewd man. Perhaps he did this to force Remiel’s hand. If Accipiter kills him, the threat the magister think he poses to the Archon is removed. If Remiel kills Accipiter, her unnatural position in the magocracy can be forgotten and the Archon will have access to Danarius’ journals and this house again.”

“Sure, then Remiel will make his move to take the throne.” Micah looked at Mikla and nodded. “Right?”

“The Archon would have him assassinated within a fortnight. He only tolerates Remiel’s machinations because it’s in his interest to do so.”

“ _Fasta vass!_ ” Fenris shoved off the door and began to pace, the fingers of his gauntlets clacking together as the barely leashed energy of his body found a conduit.

“I guess I can understand the Archon’s motivations, but why would Remiel give a shit about me being the First Enchanter?”

“Remiel is the most senior enchanter in the Circle. He expected to take the role immediately and was reportedly furious when he found out the Archon wished to appoint another, you, a woman, a ‘lyrium-branded Ferelden bush mage’, if the rumors are correct, in his place.”

“So why wait this long? Why not move against me the minute he found out. Why pair up with Estwell, especially since Alana said you expect an emissary soon?”

“The emissary is an unofficial formality. Magisters are always vying for position and power, but the Maioritas are the most powerful and wealthy among the Senate. If they killed each other every time someone took offense, the most important bloodlines would end within months.” Fenris growled the words and his rapid back and forth movements became agitated.

“Fine. I get it. Can’t have all the magisters offing each other helter skelter. But Estwell?”

“Come on, Hawke! Obviously Remiel believed Estwell would give you more trouble than he did. If you were diverted by a protracted assault on Lantarius, it would have given Remiel the time to set his cadre of mages on this property, working to unbind its protections.”

“So sorry to disappoint, then! Don’t get pissy with me, Fenris!”

“And he did move quickly! You said the offer from the Archon came the week Hawke left?”

Mikla nodded. “Yes, a day or so after the First Enchanter died.”

“He only waited long enough to find a suitable patsy. You were only in Kirkwall for five or six weeks.”

“Does it even matter, Fenris? Maker!” 

Mikla and Alana looked between the two, obviously at a loss and confused by the interaction between their magister and Fenris.

“I don’t expect Remiel to wait much longer, now that you’re here. I would be surprised if the emissary arrived unto the morning.” Mikla rubbed a hand across his face and Hawke lifted her arm from the water, reaching out for the boy. 

“Hey, don’t get yourself knotted up. If we’re going to get through this, we need a good plan, not to be undermining ourselves.”

“What are your wishes, Accipiter?” Alana stood at the end of the basin.

“First things first, I want something to eat. If the emissary comes today, I’ll meet him or her exactly how they expect me to, clad in lyrium and nothing else. Ferelden bush mage, am I? Damn right and proud of it!”

“I forbid you to do so!”

Micah might have laughed at the terrified, no actually horrified, looks on Mikla and Alana’s faces. Both of them were nearly apoplectic at Fenris’ outburst. Hawke, however, burned at his audacity.

“You have _no_ say, Fenris.” Her voice was cold.

He looked like he wanted to throttle the life from her; in fact his brands began to glow faintly and continued to brighten as he spoke. “You are insane!”

“So you’ve said before.” Her ire bled away and she sighed as she stood from the tub.

“ _Venhedis_!” Fenris bellowed and stormed from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Mikla and Alana remained quiet for a few moments while the woman helped Micah dry and dress. It was the steward who finally spoke.

“Fenris seems a bit distressed at your nudity. I don’t understand why, he was nude for weeks after the ritual.”

“To be honest, Mikla, I don’t really understand it either. Most of the time, I haven’t got a fucking clue what’s going on with Fenris, not any more. At first, he was the same angry, bitter elf I met in Lowtown seven years ago. Then he seemed to be trying to be my friend, or at least something other than a distant acquaintance.” She laughed, but it was soft and held very little humor. “And there’ve been a couple of times where I thought he might even like me, a little, but those are few and far between.” 

“He says you can sleep now, so long as you touch him.”

Micah nodded. “I don’t know why, but when we’re connected the pain becomes background noise and I can ignore it. But Fenris has never seemed to enjoy touching, at all. I can understand, shit, I empathize, and I’d never ask him to do it all the time. Besides, walking around holding hands would likely portray an intimacy far too great for Fenris to handle.”

“But you fingers were laced together when you came into the house.”

Hawke thought back and realized that Mikla was right. “Not for that reason. I was telling him the best way I could that I was right there, that he wasn’t coming back here alone.”

“You lent him your strength.”

She smiled. “Yes, now enough about the elf and his disgruntlement. If I’m here, I’ll be doing what a ‘good’ magister should and attending her holdings and businesses. Alana, if you’d bring a tray to the library, I’d appreciate it. Mikla, come with me, and let’s get some of the work taken care of, especially now that I have yet another estate to deal with.”

The steward grinned. “At the rate you acquire new property, Accipiter, I might need help soon.”

She nudged him with a stifled chuckle. “If you need it, procure it, Mikla. I have a feeling Estwell’s won’t be the last. Just out of curiosity, when _was_ the last time a magister accumulated so much wealth so fast?”

“In truth, Accipiter, I can’t say. Probably not since the Storm Age and still not so quickly as you managed. There’s a letter from the Warden-Commander of Ferelden on the desk.”

“Thank goodness! If nothing else, Solona must have some good news.”

* * *

Solona Amell did indeed write with good tidings. She was granting Henley’s request for more men, but she also had news of a rather more interesting nature, at least as far as Micah was concerned. It seemed word of Magister Accipiter had spread into both the Anderfels and Ferelden. Thus far, Solona’s letter assured Hawke that no one had made the connection between her Imperial name and its common tongue equivalent. The only reason the Warden-Commander even mentioned it, the words expressed, was because people in power were getting curious.

And in the Hero of Ferelden’s opinion, gaining the notice of people in power wasn’t always a good thing.

“Well, that is just Maker-be-damned lovely.” Micah muttered to beneath her breath.

“What is?” Fenris was leaning in the open door of the library.

She spared him the barest notice. “My cousin tells me tales are beginning to spread about a mysterious new magister stirring all sorts of trouble in the Imperium. If I didn’t know for a fact it wasn’t Varric’s doing, I’d write Solona back and tell her to have her Crow visit the dwarf.”

“You can’t possibly have thought your rise in the Imperium would go unnoticed by outsiders, Hawke.”

“I couldn’t? And here I’ve pretty much spent my whole life not hearing a peep about Tevinter, until I met you at least. In general, the only people who speak of the Imperium are those damned pious pricks in the White Chantry and even then, only when they feel the need to stir up common people against the evil of free mages.”

“Can you blame them? You’ve lived here for almost a year, you’ve _suffered_ the hospitality of the magisters. But you still think mages should be free?”

“Fenris, I’m riding a really fine line today. I don’t want to fight with you too.”

“I do not understand how you can defend magist-“

“Fenris!” Micah took a deep breath. “It’s not about magisters. Not even mages or non-mages. It’s about freedom, period. Freedom is the right to choose, for good or ill. If mages choose to make pacts with demons, to use their gifts to steal the will of others for their own gain, then they should pay, either with their life or with lifelong imprisonment.

“But no one should be chained and bound, used for the benefit of another. For any reason. Not here. Not anywhere. I know you’ve seen Anders’ body, the horrific things carved and branded into his flesh.” She looked down at her forearm. “Like what is permanently etched in mine. In yours.” 

Fenris blanched, shifting uncomfortably beneath Micah’s disappointed frown. “I remember and I- I do not believe as I once did.”

“But being back here brings the reminder of things you’d rather forget. I understand. I do.” She tugged at her tunic, and tried to push the pain back, just a little while longer. “While you’re here, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

He stepped further into the room, and she watched him walk, the tightly controlled power, the way his limbs moved without the slightest bit of excess motion. When he settled himself in a chair across from her, she drew her thoughts back to the question she’d been pondering off and on since Mikla had asked her about sleeping.

“I didn’t read through Danarius’ journals, I didn’t want to, but something’s been bothering me for a while now and I thought you might be able to give me some insight. Was you ex-master as meticulous with his magic as it seems he was?”

“Danarius went beyond precision when it came to spells. He would spend weeks, months, researching every detail, dissecting every trial result in book upon book upon book. By the time actually cast major magics, he knew exactly what would happen. Danarius would not have allowed for any errant effects.”

Every word Fenris spoke made Hawke’s stomach plummet further from her stomach and closer to her toes. “That’s kind of what I thought.”

“Why do you ask? Did you expect me to say the man was sloppy?”

“No, but I hoped, a bit. It’s too late now, regardless.”

“Too late for what?”

“Too late for me to ask. Don’t worry about it, Fenris. It’s nothing.”

“You’re lying.” He sat forward in his chair, the sharp points of his gauntlets tapping against the wood of the desk.

“I’m not lying. I’m simply not sharing.”

“Hawke.”

“You’re like a Mabari with a leg of lamb.” Micah fidgeted in the chair, grumbling beneath her breath as the ache in her skin turned to a dull throb.

“Then you know I won’t let this go until you speak. Save us both the trouble and do so.” He lifted a brow, and gave her a small, arrogant smile.

She was so weak when he smiled, she simply couldn’t deny him. “I’ll have to read his journals, but I think… I think Danarius planned to take me. I think, when he came to Kirkwall with Varania, getting you back was a bonus, not the point.”

“Why would you think that?” Fenris was very pale and Hawke didn’t want to say anything else, but the can was opened, worms wriggling everywhere.

“It’s actually been on my mind for weeks, since you touched me and the pain went away. Well, maybe before that, when I phased into you and everything was so very peaceful. I was hoping it was perhaps an unintended side effect. That somehow our tattoos cancel each other out or something, but that can’t be true when it only affects the sensitivity of our skin.”

“But why you?”

“Honestly, I don’t think it was me he initially had in mind.”

“Mikla.” Fenris blinked slowly and released a loud breath.

“Exactly. I think he intended his next subject to be a mage, rather, I think you were a trial, a test to see if he could even complete the lyrium ritual in the first place. I’m pretty sure he always intended to do this to a mage, from the beginning. Perhaps even to himself, eventually.”

“For what purpose?”

“I can enter the Fade at will, while I’m awake. Sitting here, right now, I could activate these veins, make a whole in the fabric of reality, and step through into the Fade. And nothing can stop me. Demons, spirits, they don’t even see me; to them I’m part of the fabric of their realm. There’s no need for me be asleep, I could stalk through the Fade for days, weeks, just waiting for a target to show up. You can Fade shift as well, yes, but you can’t travel fully across the Veil, can you?”

“No, I’m still partly in the physical world.” Fenris swallowed hard and Micah couldn’t bear to look at him. 

“I can kill. Turn a powerful mage tranquil in the real world, or I could step out of the Fade and into their bedchamber, hidey hole, den of iniquity, wherever their physical body rested and kill them in truth. And I have the feeling that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”

“If you were still under his power, he could have remade the Imperium in his image. Damn it, Hawke, you offered yourself to him on a gilded platter.” His green eyes turned stormy, lids dropping as a scowl overtook his features.

“I’m sure he’d already focused his sights on me by the time I went to the Hanged Man.”

“Why?”

“I killed the Arishok. I’m a fully mature mage with years of training and experience, not an elf-blooded young man who knows just enough not to be out of control. Danarius knew you were part of my inner circle. It was probably as if the old gods themselves were granting his darkest wish. The return of his prized pet and the acquisition of a powerful mage for him to recreate with his ritual, where was the downside? Of course, if he’d been slightly less arrogant, he might have anticipated my moves on the board. Good for me the only thing bigger than his ego was… well, nothing actually.”

“You were the feast then, and I the appetizer?”

“I don’t know.” Micah tapped a finger on the pile of papers in front of her. “I need to read those journals, I have a feeling there’s information there I- we’re going to want.”

“Even if you’re right, about all of it, about why Danarius concocted the ritual in the first place, why would he take the chance of losing an even more potent weapon than his first?”

“I don’t know and that’s what bothers me the most. I think it all boils down to what started this whole conversation – the fact that your touch is the only thing I can bear for any amount of time. Even air becomes too much. There were times, before I went back to Kirkwall, when I thought I would lose my mind.”

“And the sensitivity isn’t getting any better.”

“No. It isn’t. If anything, it might be getting worse, but I can’t say for sure. I’ve been rather tightly wound lately and anxiety of any kind makes it worse.” 

Mikla cleared his throat and Micah looked away from Fenris. “It’s time?”

“Yes, Magister, the emissary has arrived.”

“Where is he?”

“In the courtyard, I refused to allow him into the house. He stinks of forbidden magic.”

She glanced at the elf, though she spoke to the steward. “Mikla, I want you and Alana to move all the staff to the warding room. If this goes badly, you know what to do.”

The young man was silent for too long and she sighed. Standing, she made her way around the desk toward the doorway. When she reached him, she clenched her jaw and took a deep breath, before enfolding the boy in her arms. _Maker, it hurts so bad!_ She didn’t let Mikla see, choking on a cry of agony when his long limbs wound around her back.

“You’ve changed us, Accipiter. We won’t be slaves again.”

“Be careful and don’t hesitate. You’ll know if I’ve fallen and you won’t have much time. Guide them to safety, get everyone to the port. Isabela will be waiting.”

“Yes, Accipiter.”

She let him go slowly, pressing one hand to his young, brave face. “Go, Mikla.”

The steward nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. Micah drew a ragged breath, both from pain and fear for her people.

“You have protections in place for them.”

Fenris drew next to her and lightly pressed his palm to her shoulder. She sagged a bit as the throbbing dulled immediately. “Yes. The spells won’t last for long, but long enough Mikla and the others will be able to use the tunnels beneath the city to get to the docks and escape.”

“Should we greet your guest, then?”

“I don’t suppose you’d go with them, would you?” She gave him a crooked grin.

He replied with a soft one, hand tightening slightly against her flesh. “No.”

Squaring herself, she pulled away from him. “Then let’s get this over with.”

* * *

“Magister Accipiter.” Henley saluted as she strode, adorned only in lyrium, into the courtyard.

“Lieutenant.” 

“This is Laverno, emissary to Magister Remiel. He has a scroll for you.”

“Bring it.”

Henley motioned to a soldier near him, who went to Laverno, careful not to touch the mages flesh as he accepted the missive the man carried, and brought it his lieutenant. Micah nodded to the man and he held it out for her.

She passed her right hand over the cylinder of parchment, seeking spells or other arcane work, but found nothing and took the scroll from Henley, unfurling the paper.

_Magister Accipiter_  
 _In the interest of brevity, I will get straight to the point. You will accede you estate in Minrathous, the one that belonged to the former Magister Danarius, as well as any books, parchments, notes, or other magical writings of said magister, including the slave named Fenris. If you agree, I will gladly allow you and your slaves to leave the city without interference. Surely, with the many holdings you have in the Imperium, there is somewhere else you’d rather be than at the heart of Tevinter._  
 _I await your response._  
 _Senior Enchanter of the Imperial Chantry, Remiel_

Micah called fire and burnt the offending document to ash in her hand. Her brands flared, and she curled her hands into fists to stop herself from calling down the sky in her rage. Her gaze locked with the blood-tainted gaze of the emissary, saw the ugly smirk on his face. His filthy gaze wandered her body, lecherous, covetous. He knew what the missive said, knew she was balancing on the razor’s edge of control.

“My Master added an addendum, Magister Accipiter. He said the lyrium-ghost is the property of the Imperium and you will not be allowed to keep him, either way.”

“We’ll see about that, Laverno. Tell you Master I refuse his offer. Tell him to come, if he thinks he can.”

“You are a worthless whore and my Master will have what he wants. I will give it to him!”

She felt it, a moment before Fenris cried out and fell to one knee, immobilized by the spell he hadn't expected. The bastard had cast Blood Slave, his intent to tear the elf from her, turn him into a weapon against Micah.

“No!” She grabbed for Fenris, her body incandescent as she lost herself in the power of the lyrium-veins tracing her skin. “You will not have him.” Phasing, she reached out to the her elf, eyes closed, instinct guiding her, and pushed her arm into his body, seeking out the place his power grew from.

She touched it and Fenris was free, his own tattoos flaring like a star, and together they tore away the blood-magic chains Laverno thought he could bind the elf in.

Micah pulled away as Fenris regained his feet and the courtyard came into focus again. Laverno had called shades and demons and Henley and his men were struggling to push them back, to protect Hawke.

Looking around, she saw the betraying emissary, calling the blood from her soldiers to feed his power. She dove through the melee, straight for him. He whirled, saw her, and threw his vile energy at her. She felt the suck of life, but her brands burned against the assault and she continued forward until her fist was buried in his chest. 

Laverno tore at her, ragged nails cutting, tearing the skin on her arms, face, but Micah refused to let go. She should kill him, but it wasn’t enough a punishment for this transgression. She would send a message none could ignore. With one hand around Laverno’s heart, she used her other to reach into his mind and shifted more fully into the Fade.

With lyrium singing through her mind, vibrating her body in beautiful harmony, Hawke forced the unwilling mage into a place in between. Their physical forms remained in Tevinter, but their spirits were caught in the blue shadow of the Veil, trapped against what was real and what was dreams.

She looked at Laverno, the ephemeral part of him writhing to be free of her unbreakable hold. His aura was stained so black, the mage so corrupt there was no way to save him if she even wanted to, but shifted as she was, she could see his connection to magic, to the Fade itself. Fighting against the drag of blood magic, slowly stealing her physical life, Micah dug deeper into the mage’s soul, if it could even be called that, and clawed out his magic with savage, horrific fury. She didn’t just cut his connection, she severed him, and watched as everything Laverno had ever been, his every depraved power, disappeared, dark ash against the hazy indigo of the Veil.

She came back to herself and staggered, pulling her power back, retaking a solid form. The blood mage, however, made absolutely no response, no movement. He stood before her utterly still and placid, the perfect slave. Laverno had no will of his own, no purpose but what was set for him. He was Tranquil, completely, but what she’d done was not like the brand of the White Chantry, no, it was worse. 

Hawke gagged as the truth of what she’d done hit her like a bronto. She hadn’t just cut him off from the Fade, she had forever destroyed this man’s ability to ever know magic again, she’d exorcised the magic from him so thoroughly it was as if he’d never been born a mage. What Danarius had done to her, what she’d willingly allowed, had turned her into a monster.

“Go back to your Master now, Laverno. Tell him Fenris is mine. He will only ever be mine! Go.”

“Yes, Magister Accipiter.” The man’s tone was dead flat, emotionless. He bowed to her and turned to leave, gait unhurried, eyes straight forward and empty.

“What have you done?” Fenris’ voice was close to her but so far away.

“Become the thing Danarius made.”

She looked at no one as she left the courtyard, could not even meet her own gaze in the glass of the windows. There was nothing but silence in her wake.


	7. Part VII: Adumbration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adumbration is one of my favorite words, but it's so rarely used, which is sad IMO, LOL! Base word is adumbrate, for those interested :D
> 
> Also, STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT AND GRAPHIC VIOLENCE AHEAD. Reader discretion advised.

Chapter One

Fenris watched Hawke go, her words like a thunderclap in his mind.

_”What have you done?”_

_”Become the thing Danarius made.”_

Shoving aside his feelings, something Fenris was very good at; he turned to the injured around him and helped assess their needs. His body was still a bit weak from the blood mage’s attack, but Fenris didn’t let that slow him down. He knelt next to a young guard, the man pressing a bandage to a gash in his forearm, but otherwise seemingly unscathed.

“How did she do that? One minute we were being overrun with demons and their ilk and the next, all of them, destroyed, only ash in the wind.” 

Fenris glanced up at the voice. Henley had his arm around the waist of another man whose arm was clearly broken.

“I don’t know. Lieutenant, have a man sent inside to the steward. We need healers.”

“You’re right. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” The man bellowed for someone and directed them to the warding room. “The Magister looked shaken, should I send someone to her?”

“No. She… Accipiter is dealing with an uncomfortable truth. I’ll see to her later, after we’ve seen to the men here. Those would be her orders.”

The lieutenant gave him an odd look but Fenris understood it. He had used Hawke’s Imperial name. “As you say, Wolf.”

As the elf moved away from the knight, bodies began to emerge from the home, men and women carrying herb pots and bandages. He made his way through the destruction and was relieved to find none dead or severely injured.

“Where’s Accipiter?” Mikla’s hand grabbed Fenris’ arm, turning the older man to face him.

“I do not know. Inside, but where I couldn’t say.”

“Fenris, what happened? I felt something strange, through the protections.”

“I don’t know! I am no mage. All I know of magic is its taint!” Fenris jerked away from the boy, angry with himself, angry with this Remiel, and angry with Micah. He’d seen her face before she walked away and it tore something so deep inside Fenris wanted to scream.

Never, not in the entire time he’d known her, had the elf seen such an emotion from Hawke. The look of awful _ruin_ that had clung to her beautiful features devastated him. Hawke, no matter how bad things were, how insurmountable a goal appeared, never lost the glint of hope in her deep, sapphire gaze. But before she’d left him, he’d seen those beloved eyes and the only thing reflected there was despair.

“I have to find her.” He felt it in his gut, if he didn’t find her, break her out of the hole she’d slipped into, he would lose her.

“Fenris! Damn it, Fenris!” Mikla grabbed him again, jerking Fenris to a stop. “Tell me what you saw. Maybe between us we can figure out where she is.”

“I don’t know. The emissary tried to enthrall me. I didn’t see it coming, I couldn’t fight back. Then Hawke was inside me, she called the lyrium in me to life.”

“Then?”

“She pushed her way through the demons and shades the mage called to fight for him. And she plunged her hand into his chest. I don’t know what happened then, it was like she shifted into the Fade, but not all the way, and both of their bodies were incomplete, almost like shadows. I fought my way to her, and she released the emissary. But he was not what he had been. I’d call him tranquil, but it was more than that, there was no sense of magic from him _at all_.”

“Nothing?” Mikla’s eyes grew wide.

“He felt utterly null. I know how the Orlesian Chantry brands their mages, but that mark severs the mage from the Fade, from being able to access their magic. This, what she did, it was as if she took all the magic from him.”

Mikla stumbled and Fenris raked a gauntleted hand over his face. Anxiety grew larger, more aggressive, in his chest. Why had she walked away? “Where, Mikla? There are dozens upon dozens of rooms in this place. Where?”

The steward steadied himself, a frown between his eyes as he thought. Then he looked at Fenris, fear and horror spreading from his eyes over his face. “The chamber.” Mikla shoved past the other elf, running hell bent toward the entrance. Fenris stumbled, and then followed, his focus entirely on the boy in front of him.

The men raced past Henley, tearing through the mansion at top speed. Fenris stayed close, his feet less than a step behind Mikla’s as the steward rushed down halls, through rooms, taking passages even Fenris didn’t recall, until finally, they stopped before a door, deep in the bowels of the estate.

Mikla didn’t hesitate, he slammed into the room with the force of ten men, blowing the door off its hinges and revealing Hawke, collapsed against a great chest, books strewn about her, the silver gleam of a ritual dagger clutched in her hand.

Fenris lurched into the room, the past and the present merging for a moment. This place, he knew it well and so did Micah. It was where they’d both been branded with lyrium and forever changed.

“Accipiter!” The young man ran for her, tripped and fell to his knees, body sliding over the smooth polished stone beneath him. He seized Micah’s wrist, tore the blade from her and threw it with force away from him, from her. “What are you doing?” Mikla shook her, but she only dropped her head.

“Not what you think, Mikla. Though it might be a better idea.” 

Fenris approached slowly, pressing his hand to the boy’s shoulder. “Mikla, it’s alright. I’ll see to her. You should go.”

The boy pulled her tight to his chest. “No. I won’t leave her.”

“It’s alright.” Micah looked up at the boy, placed her palm on his cheek. “I swear to you, I’m not going to leave you.”

It took several moments, but finally the boy nodded and released her. Mikla stood, wiping his hands over his eyes before looking hard at Fenris. “You fix this, Fenris. Fix it!” The words were uttered low, a snarled hiss for the elf’s ears alone.

Mikla stormed away, and Fenris watched him go, unsure if he could even hope to do what had been demanded of him. The steward called magic, brought the broken door together and righted, before pulling the wooden barrier closed.

“I have to know, I have to understand, I don’t recognize...”

“Hawke.”

She slumped to the floor and rolled to her side, tears trickling from her eyes. “I don’t even know why you’re here, elf. Not really. And after what I just did, I cannot fathom you being in the same room.”

“You stopped a blood mage from thralling me and killing your soldiers.”

“I eviscerated the soul of another living thing and claimed you as my property.” Her eyes were dull, flat, the only shine the remnants of tears.

_“Fenris is mine. He will only ever be mine!”_

He rocked back on his heels and accepted something had fundamentally changed because there was no pain, no rage when he thought about those words. Only the fierce, fiery belief that Micah Hawke would never let him go and that he would never leave her.

Nervousness took hold as Fenris looked down at her. He couldn’t tell her, the truth was too raw, too new. But he had to do something to abolish the helplessness binding her, tearing her apart from the inside.

“The Hawke I know has never sat submissive and waited for the ax to fall. The Hawke I know would refuse to give up and accept anything but the outcome she decided. I’ve never once seen Micah Hawke have a pity party or feel sorry for herself and I promise, I’ve watched. Or is it pity? When did you become a coward, Hawke?”

Heat suffused her face and she moved fast as a snake in the brush, her body gliding sinuously from the floor a second before her fist connected with Fenris’ solar plexus. He grunted and skittered backward, wincing as he remembered her strength was enhanced. She growled, his only warning before she launched from the floor, slamming into him with enough force to take Fenris from his feet, her body riding his as they slid across the stone. 

“How _dare_ you!” She ignited and slammed a fist toward his head, but Fenris jerked to the side, wincing when her knuckles collided with blood red granite. 

He threw her off and rolled to his hands a feet, baring teeth. She howled in pain and fury, but he felt the wash of magic as she healed herself then whirled to face him. “I just did something no one should be able to do. How? Why? What happens when I do something to someone I care about, an act I can’t take back! I’m trying to protect people, you bastard. I am _not_ a coward!”

“Bullshit,” he spat the pejorative. “You’re scared of yourself. Fine. But you protect no one by _giving in_. If you succumb to this self-pity, you leave all the people who trust you, who follow you, who believe in you unprotected, easy picking for the magisters… and the Knight-Commander.”

Her eyes flared with power and his skin tightened. Fenris barely had time to jump behind the altar before lightning arced across the room. 

“Argh!” Her fury heated the air. “What do you care, Fenris? Hypocrite! For seven years you’ve mocked my magic, my protection, but suddenly you want to respect it, use it against me? I should have known you’d snap at me when I’m already weak. The ex-slave who runs from everything? All the while blaming magic for his woes?” 

He saw the horror cloud her gaze as the words slipped from her lips, saw her stagger beneath the weight of her cruelty, and Fenris smiled, a real smile, because she was finally, finally truly furious with him. And if she was furious with him, then she wasn’t despondent. Moreover, he deserved it. He deserved to hear the truth from her lips, the brutality of it, and not the gentle rewording so as not to hurt his feelings.

“Fenris… I’m sorry.”

“No you aren’t.” He stood from the crouch, watching her gaze narrow, her body crackling with power. 

“You’re right, I’m not.” A telekinetic burst slammed into him, throwing him back to the floor as she charged.

He jumped to his feet, neatly sidestepping her, lower leg catching hers at the same time he snared a wrist in one gauntleted hand. Though she was angry, Hawke wasn’t a fool and it seemed her father had taught her well, rusty as her brawling skills might have been. Using her momentum against Fenris, she moved with him, flowing like water, landing several strong blows to his ribs with her free hand. Fenris released her arm to defend himself and Micah pushed with force magic, sending him to his knees again as she turned, planning her next attack.

“So you can fight me, then, but not them?” He winced and pressed a hand to his aching side. He flung his hand toward the door. “They will come. Soon.”

“I know that!”

“Perhaps if I send Remiel a missive, ask him to hold an extra day so you might wallow?”

He barely had time to duck as she leapt at him. Fenris lunged from her path, but didn’t wait for Hawke to gather herself, instead plowing after her, arms coming around her sleek, bare body, using his momentum to drive them both into a potions table behind them. Wood exploded as he fought to capture her wrists, but she was strong, and enraged, and she twisted beneath him, bringing up her knee and kicking out, sending Fenris flying through the air.

His arms pin wheeled for a moment before he tucked his head down and crossed his arms overs himself to protect his skull. Fenris hit the wall hard enough to crack it, sliding down it and struggling to regain his breath.

“Enough, Fenris! Enough.”

“It’s only enough if the Hawke I know is the one before me.” He shook his head, trying to clear the ringing in his ears.

“Fuck you, Fenris!” He watched lightning dance over her fingertips. “I don’t know what I am anymore. I don’t know who I am.” Her voice grew soft and she slowly drew her fingers toward her palms. 

“You are who you’ve always been.”

He watched her rein in her power, magic dissipating, lyrium fire fading. She pressed a shaking hand to her brow, closing her eyes as she wrapped the other arm around her midsection. The center of her lyrium veins, a starburst around her navel, pulsed lightly before going silent and Fenris felt his corresponding mark, situated at the terminus of his sternum, throb as well. 

“No, I’m not. But this gets me nowhere and serves no purpose. I need answers before Remiel comes to take me, if he can, kill me if he can’t.”

“He will _never_ have you, Hawke.” Fenris’ own anger began to boil as he pushed himself from the floor. He tore his gauntlets off, then his breast plate. The taste of hot metal filled his mouth and he swiped the back of his hand over his lips and glanced down to see a bright red streak against his flesh.

“Fenris, I said –“ She dropped her hand and whirled to face him, eyes blinking open wide with shock when he took hold of her bare body and jerked her hard to him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh.

“You are _mine_.”

Then Fenris plunged one hand deep into her hair, tilting her head back just enough so he could take captive her plump, pink lips. When her warm flesh parted for him, Fenris felt a knot unfurl, maybe the last one, as he plunged deep and came _home_.

* * *

 _Wait, is Fenris kissing_ Even her inner voice couldn’t maintain coherency under the onslaught of the elf’s deep, greedy kiss. His tongue thrust past her teeth and he shifted, leaving no space between them. His arm at her back an iron band holding them pressed as close as his strength could manage without breaking her. Fenris’ taste overwhelmed Micah, blood and lyrium and passion. It consumed her, and she threw her arms around his shoulders, opening her mouth wider beneath his invasion.

This wasn’t a kiss; it was a claiming.

Micah whimpered, her skin shivering, vibrating where it touched his, the lyrium-veins igniting a powerful magnetism. Every time hers pressed to his, pleasure bolted through Hawke. She dug her fingers into his upper arms and he growled against her sensitive lips, the hand in her hair dropping as Fenris moved again, both hands palming her ass, lifting Hawke from the floor.

She didn’t even hesitate, wrapping her legs around his waist, clinging to him with all her strength as she tangled her tongue with his, her response becoming more aggressive. She wanted to fill Fenris with herself; she needed him inside her doing the exact same thing.

Tearing her mouth from his, she brought her hands to the back of his head, fingers sinking into the feather-soft strands. Fenris’ hands tightened against her buttocks, holding her tight to him, and she moaned again. He was so hard, so _hot_ where she was so soft and willing.

Squeezing her thighs against his hips, Micah sifted her fingers deeper into his hair, letting her thumbs tease the tips of his ears. Fenris surged against her, fingers digging into her bottom hard enough to bruise, but she didn’t care. She ground her hips to his, whimpering, and scraped a fingernail against the sensitive shell, earning a sharp nip at her bottom lip as his body shuddered in her hold.

She pulled away from his mouth and skated her teeth along his jaw, sliding her arms higher on his back, pulling her body upward to take the lobe of his ear between her lips, gliding her tongue inside the firm crests and valleys.

“Hawke.” Her name was a plea, and Micah was more than happy to comply.

Fingers fisting against his scalp, she tilted his for better access, nipping, sucking, laving every inch, delicately tracing the dips and whirls, teasing the edges of the canal, before forcing hot breath over the sensitive skin, pulling back to bite, first softly, then harder, at the velvet-soft lobe as his hips pumped against the sweetest of aches throbbing between her legs.

“Micah.”

She drew back, searched his face, needing to see, needing to know that he was with her in this, that he wasn’t having second thoughts. His eyes, a green so pure she could almost smell pine when she looked into them, were half-lidded and heavy with desire. Arousal caressed his cheekbones, his parted lips, swollen from their kisses. 

“I choose you.” His words were soft, shaky, but they hammered into her heart, her soul, as though propelled with the force of the Maker.

Her breath caught and she surrendered completely to the man she loved.

* * *

 _Home_. The word echoed through every cell of Fenris’ body as Micah’s breath held on a sob the moment before she took his mouth again. Lyrium intoned through him and for the first time the sound was truly transcendent. He’d had a taste, holding her hand, the night she’d shifted completely inside of him, the day in the garden, but those things were pleasant foreshadows of this: his brands pressed to hers, their bodies as close as two forms could be, his skin sang and hers seemed to vibrate in harmonious accord.

He wanted to trace every brand with his fingers, his lips, his tongue and have her do the same, but this moment, the union of their flesh, had been too long in coming. He had to be inside her, his cock throbbed with need, his entire body poised on the edge of some exultation he’d never thought to imagine.

Drawing back, he looked up at her beautiful face, her dark-sky eyes glittering with need, with hunger, and most lovely of all, with hope once more. He walked them to the very altar where they’d both been defiled, lowering her bottom onto the cold stone slab. She shivered and pressed closer and he groaned.

“I want so many things, Micah, but I cannot wait.”

“Then don’t.” She eased her thighs from his hips and withdrew her arms from his neck, body reclining until she laid across the stone before him.

With ragged jerks, Fenris opened his leggings, his straining cock bobbing free and painfully full of blood. Taking a breath, trying to bring himself a measure of control, he placed his darker hand against her sternum, Fenris traced over her flesh, teasing the tips of her breasts, stroking brands and pale, moon-lit flesh, soft as silk beneath the rough ends of his fingers. She shuddered, moaned, and lifted into his touch.

“Fenris.” A sigh, the faint whisper of a caress, but he felt as if she’d taken him by the root of his pleasure and squeezed. His cock jumped, a shimmer of precome beading at the glans.

Slowly, he brought his hand to her core, breathing growing more labored as the evidence of her need glistened against the soft pink lips of her sex. With far more control than Fenris actually felt, he tested her heat, the slickness of her body, with one finger and found her unbelievable tight, firm, her inner muscles clenching against his intrusion.

“How long?” He wanted to slam into her, but if he did, she would be pained.

“Never.” Micah whimpered the word, her mind refusing to acknowledge what happened on the way to Minrathous beyond that small sound. Fenris felt every muscle in his body seize as he took in the determination in the line of Hawke's beautiful face.

“What of-”

Her eyes blinked open and she looked up at him, her words stopping his. “No. I have never willing accepted another. I want none but you, Fenris.”

He felt dizzy as blood rushed to the organ between his legs, not only because of her words but because of the trust she must have had for him to be there, in that moment, and _wanting_. Taking the thick length of his cock in hand, Fenris trembled a bit as he nudged against Hawke, where she was soft and hot and slick, pressing forward to watch as her body opened around him. Hissing, teeth clenched, he fought for control as Micah rippled, trying to adjust, to accept him where she’d refused all others.

“Maker, Fenris, oh, Maker.” 

Her hips lifted and he was taken by surprise, couldn’t stop the shout of pleasure as she thrust onto him, plunging him to the root. “Venhedis!”

“Yes, yes, Fenris, thank all the gods.” She tightened, released, tightened again, the hot slick of her increasing as she moaned and moved her hips. “More. I need you.”

With an urgency that bordered on feral, he took her hips in his hands and lifted her to him, pulling back to her whimpered pleas, thrusting deep just to hear her cry out in ecstasy. Sweat began to bead on his brow, pearl across his shoulders and chest, but all Fenris knew, his entire world, was Micah’s pussy clasped around him, the damp kiss of her lust against his pelvis, the incoherent cries of pleasure pouring from her divine lips.

She moved with him, against him, and he drove into her, releasing her hips only to change their position, to climb with her onto the altar, to bring her knees over his elbows, curling her nimble body upward, allowing him so deep inside he could feel the brush of her womb with every down stroke.

“Fenris, something – something is-“ She cried out, her body arching forcefully beneath him and he shifted again, watching her back bow as her body began to ripple chaotically around his.

He felt as though he’d been punched with a fist of pure energy, a dagger shot lancing from the top of his head, to his feet, and back again, and then everything stopped. A moment of absolute stillness right before his cock gave the first long-denied pulse of orgasm. Fenris roared his release as all that he was and ever would be poured from him with the power of the gods themselves.

Eyes closed, the muscles of his back and buttocks clenched painfully hard as he came, Fenris felt something snap into place then explode outward, from him, into Micah, and from her into him. Behind his lids, the blue-white blaze of lyrium washed away all the darkness as she screamed his name, her body tightening almost painfully, her fingernails digging deep crescents into his upper arms.

Reality shifted to a place between Tevinter and the Fade as Micah called out again, her thighs quivering against his hips, hips jerking erratically as pleasure rolled through her, over her, and onto him. Straining, body bucking against the heady contractions of her flesh, Fenris opened his eyes, took in the powerful image of her beneath him, and saw threads of lyrium spanning the space from the place on his chest to her belly growing brighter, pulsing with each wave of seed he spent inside her heat. 

* * *

“How long?” Fenris looked at her and Micah chose the truth.

“Never.”

“Never?”

“No.”

She’d done a lot of sexual exploration in her youth, but she’d never been able to take the final step. She was a mage outside the circle, as was her sister and their father before them. Trust was a precious thing, one she gave only after careful consideration, something Micah could only do with time. And time was one thing she’d never had. Moving around Ferelden as they had, even after settling near Lothering, or perhaps especially, Hawke simply couldn’t trust anyone enough.

Until Fenris. Oh, the irony hadn’t been lost on her, or Carver. Her brother had teased her endlessly, especially when she’d spilled one drunken night how she’d planned to visit the elf, Jethann, at the Rose the very night they’d met the angsty Tevinter elf. But one look at Fenris and Hawke had abandoned her plan.

She whimpered when she felt the head of him press into her, not in pain but anticipation. She’d been dreaming of this, infinitely, for the last seven years, but now, the reality of it was so much more than she’d ever imagined. His breadth spread her, stretched her, and it was beyond _good_. She was a full grown woman; there was no hymen to hinder the consummation of her flesh.

She twisted, instinctively clenching around him, wanting more. He was being so careful of her, but Micah felt the tension in his body as he held himself back. No, that would never do. Taking her lower lip between her teeth, Hawke lifted her hips to him, thrusting upward, and bringing Fenris home.

“Venhedis!” His hips snapped against hers and she took every inch of him.

“More. I need you.” 

She looked up at him, watched his abdomen ripple as he withdrew and returned, the lyrium on his skin shining with magic, with power, and she tightened around him. Lifting her hands, she traced the strength of his forearms to his elbows and fell into his rhythm, every glide of his body into hers making her hotter, wetter.

She rolled her hips, grinding her clit against the smooth plane of his pubis and Fenris grunted with pleasure, then he moved them, joining her on the stone table, changing their positions. He caught her knees with his arms and folded her onto herself, his cock spearing deep and her breath stopped. The pleasure was close to unbearable, his body as deep as it could go. With the slick of his sweat beneath her fingers, Micah could have come then, but she wanted more, needed more.

Her Fenris was relentless then, pounding into her, every stroke taking her higher, coiling ecstasy tighter and tighter until she wanted to scream for him to stop and beg for him to never push her over the edge.

“Fenris, something-” The orgasm was so close, she could touch it, but there was something else. She knew release, had brought herself plenty of times, found it in the fumbling caresses of adolescent fingers, but this… Hawke had a glittering moment of quivering, uncontrolled shuddering, her body grasping at his, before it all coalesced into a tiny point of brilliance.

His body went rigid and he bellowed his release and the moment the rush of liquid fire from Fenris splashed against her inner walls, Micah came apart in a zenith so powerful everything fell away but his cock buried deep inside, his seed filling her, and the near-painful contractions of her own body.

She dug her fingers into his upper arms, hard enough to draw blood, and gave herself completely to the moment, lyrium rising, singing, rejoicing, until light exploded from her into Fenris and locked together, they shifted to the place before the Veil. Even with her eyes closed, she could see their lyrium etched bodies, the pulse of her central star reaching out to the spot on Fenris where all veins began and ended and with each throb of light, she came again.

Micah didn’t know what it meant, but there was no fear. As their bodies became solid again, and he collapsed over her, Hawke knew it didn’t matter if they were never together like this again because he’d given her something no one could ever take from her. In that phased place, a piece of Fenris had become part of Micah, and a piece of her attached to him.

* * *

The physical plane snapped back into place, throwing them from wherever they’d gone, and Fenris collapsed against her, body shaking almost as hard as hers, sweat cooling quickly as he struggled to calm his breathing. He had never experienced anything like being with Hawke, doubted he ever could.

“Why?” He whispered the word, not sure she heard him, or even if she would know what he asked.

“I’m an apostate mage, who had an apostate father and sister. Who could I trust that much? I’ve done plenty, but never that. And when I’d finally decided it was past time to fuck someone, well, I met you. After that, it was a pointless venture. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted inside me, Fenris.”

He turned his face into her neck, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. “Thank you.”

“I am yours.”

 

Chapter Two

He shifted sleepily, reaching out for her with more than his flesh, and though his hand found the place beside him cool and empty, his chest pulsed, warmth spilling though his body. 

Fenris bolted upright in the bed, fist pressed just beneath his breast bone. _Hawke._ Another throb, a wave of reassurance and the elf felt the first tingle of apprehension skate through his system.

“Hawke?” The fire had grown dim, though Fenris didn’t recall it being lit when he’d carried Micah from the ritual room back to her chambers. He did recall the looks of reverence, the inclined heads of her staff, as he’d carried her through the halls in only his leggings.

“You’re awake. Of course you’re awake.” 

Her head popped up over the edge of the bed and he rolled toward her, hand going to her face, finger smoothing over the tattoo on her cheek. “Come back to bed.”

A blush brightened her cheeks but she didn’t move. “Oh, Fenris, I want to. So badly.” Her eyes darkened and his brands flashed as fire roared over him, bringing his cock to immediate and painful erection.

Fenris gasped. “What is that?”

She disappeared from view for a second and he heard the sound of pages shuffling and covers being closed, followed by first one, then two, then more leather bound books slipping onto the mattress to pile beside him.

Micah followed, climbing up and settling, legs tucked beneath her, close but too far for him to touch without sitting up himself, which he did without thought.

“My Tevene isn’t as good as it should be, but my Arcanum is spot on.” She flashed him a quick smile. “Although, either my father was a terrible speller or Danarius was. Either way, shit, I don’t know whether to laugh or fucking cry, Fenris.”

“Hawke, tell me what you’ve found.”

She sighed and pushed her blood-red locks from her face. “Two big things, though it would take me weeks to garner all the information in these vile notebooks.”

“Tell me.”

“Do you want the bad news or the horrific news first?”

“Hawke.” He growled her name and she scrubbed a hand over her face.

“Fine. I was right. Danarius had decided I’d make a better subject than Mikla about four years ago, after he received word from his men about Hadriana. At the time, he figured the disappearance of a minor, upstart noble in Kirkwall wouldn’t draw much attention, though after I defeated the Arishok in single combat, his determination became both more manic and more cautious.” 

Hawke picked up one of the books and opened it, sifting through the pages until she came to something that furrowed her brow. _”I must have Hawke, but her status in the Imperium, slayer of Arishok, means I’ll have to tread lightly. She’ll officially be my apprentice, but the Ferelden witch likely knows little of the ways of Tevinter. Her ignorance will be my benefit, as I will be able to use her as I like and she’ll never know life could be another way. Sadly, unlike my Fenris, I won’t be able to erase her past completely- too many will want to hear the tale of her battle against the Qunari warlord, at the very least.”_

“Why did he choose you? Simply because of our acquaintance?” Fenris felt sick, even though he had known anyone close to him could be endangered, he’d never imagined it would be like this, specific and pointed.

She smirked. “In a way. Apparently, while the people closest to me never figured out how I felt about you, Fenris, others noticed. According to the journal, his man told him it was obvious I was, uh, interested in you. Danarius decided to find out just how interested and spent the better part of the last four years having me watched.”

“And you never knew?”

“Didn’t have a clue. The text refers to a spell of some kind, but I couldn’t find it in the notes, so I can’t determine how he kept track of me. He did, that’s what’s important. He knew I was watching out for you, keeping trackers off the scent, once I severed his binding, and killing any of them who refused to be deterred.”

“Is there more?”

She flipped a couple of more pages and Fenris waited with baited breath. _“Accipiter is coming along nicely, and thankfully the witch proved herself worth every bit of coin I’ve spent to acquire her. Killing Hayes was serendipitous indeed, since I’ve needed nearly every sovereign in his coffers to pay for the lyrium in her skin. She’s cost nearly double Fenris, though I believe the outcome will be more than even I could imagine. Her magic is strong, stronger than my own considerable power.”_

“What does your magic have to do with it?” Fenris shifted, pulling the sheets tighter against his abdomen.

Micah lifted her arm and he watched her trace a vein. “My brands were modified, obviously, but the sigils, many of them, allow the brands to feed my mana almost continuously. And with each spell I cast, a bit of the magic leeches into the lyrium, using the power of the Fade inherent in a mage’s gift to then recharge the ore itself.”

“So the lyrium refills your mana, and the power is never depleted because each time you use magic, the lyrium is energized with the Fade itself.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

Fenris didn’t like the truth she’d revealed, but it certainly wasn’t ‘horrific’. “If Danarius planned to do the ritual to himself, then all of this makes sense. I’m angry that I made you a target, but I gather this is the ‘good’ news?”

Micah sighed and dropped her head into her hands. “Yeah. That’s the good news. Well, that and I’m not in any pain.”

That surprised Fenris, though after she spoke, he realized he was also completely without the irritation of his brands. “Nor am I, so more good news, then. What is the bad?”

“What we just did? It wasn’t something Danarius was sure of, but in case we were lovers, he made certain he could use it to his advantage. If not with you, then with another, though according to his notes, you were his first choice.”

A tendril of fear snaked down Fenris’ spine. “How.” It wasn’t a question, but a soft demand for her to get to the point.

Instead of speaking, she leaned back and drew her fingers to the lyrium design around her navel. Fenris watched her hand move over the veins and cocked his head, something looked different. Her index finger ran over a spot inside the sunburst and he realized what it was. 

The center of the pattern had been empty, but now, bright and bold around her navel, a stark line bisected the space, with two diagonal lines extending from its endpoints. The top slash pointed toward her hip, while the bottom lifted upward. Each new line terminated at the outer circle. What struck Fenris the most was how very _un-_ like her other brands the addition was.

“You noticed. Look at yours.”

He glanced down at his chest and saw the convergence point was changed. It had been a thick vein, with slightly slimmer lines cutting away from the trunk, now it looked similar to two ovals, connected end to end, both with curled fingers blooming from the curved edges. Fenris lifted his fingers to the brand. The work was delicate, filigreed almost, and like hers, the antithesis of the design of the rest of his body.

“What are these?”

“In the journal, Danarius called them _anima catenis_. The term is Tevene, and I know the first one means ‘soul’ but I couldn’t figure-“

“Chains. _Catenis_ means chains.”

She shook her head. “That’s what I thought, considering what else I found, but I hoped I was wrong. He didn’t know for certain they would even happen, or how they’d manifest, but his conjecture was if he managed to get both of us together, our brands would seek each other, like the way Fade spirits, good or bad, hunt for lyrium and magic when they’re in the mortal realm.”

“Like attracting like.” Fenris felt sick. Was everything he felt for the mage a lie, then? _No, you wanted her long before she came to Tevinter,_ his inner voice chimed with a hint of irritation. 

“Sort of, except in this case, I’m more affected than you, because my brands are different than yours. He adjusted the ritual, that’s obvious, but some of my sigils guarantee an advantageous outcome, if we were lovers or could be... made to be intimate. Now that we’ve,” she blushed a bit, but grit her teeth and kept going, “had sex, this connection can be used to keep me in line.”

“How? You still haven’t explained.”

“Your,” Micah’s face flamed with hot, but she grit her teeth and kept going, “your seed. The minute you came inside me, the spell was cast. Of the two of us, Danarius figured I might become a problem.”

Simply hearing her say those words had Fenris’ cock surging between his legs, a growing bloom of precome staining the sheet over his lap. Struggling to stay focused on the conversation, despite his hunger and her fully nude body, he cleared his throat. “He thought nothing of me, then?”

“I didn’t say that, but he was able to wipe your memories once. He was confident he could do it again. Once you were a blank slate, he’d have made you as biddable as you were before he was forced to leave you in Seheron.”

Fenris shuddered. “He didn’t take away your past.”

“He thought he’d taken some of the important bits, well except for the Arishok and escaping Ferelden. Killing an ogre and meeting Flemeth were apparently important memories. But no, he never knew he failed completely, that I had planned for that very circumstance before I ever went to meet him at the Hanged Man. 

“However, he was rather certain my magic would eventually erode whatever he did to my mind and I would try to take back control of myself. Danarius was a sick, sadistic flotsam of filth, but he was meticulously brilliant.” Micah flattened her hand over her belly. “My mark means defender, protection, loyalty… it’s the Arcanum symbol for the wolf.”

“And mine?”

“Yours, well, yours is older than Arcanum. It’s from before the fall of Arlathan.”

“How do you know this?”

“I went to the Fade and asked Justice. It means the beginning and the end. All that is or will be - it is eternity and it’s nothing. Danarius _didn’t_ expect you to manifest a new design, though. In all this mess of shit he left behind, I can say that’s the only thing I’ve found so far that he didn’t anticipate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“This,” she growled and squeezed her eyes shut, fingers twisting in the bed sheets. “this mark means I’m bound to you and you to me. The reason I’m in no pain is because you are,” her face bloomed hot with shame, “ _you’re_ still inside of me. More than just physically, there’s a piece of your spirit housed in mine and vice versa.”

“Hawke.” His voice came out harsher than he meant, but her anxiety seemed to feed his and what she said, the way her voice was low and hoarse, only made him want to throw aside all the books and merge their flesh again, and again, and again.

He knew she felt the hunger, the edgy tension. Her nipples tightened and she swiped her tongue over her lips. He watched her curl her fingers into her palms and he sighed deeply. This conversation was necessary, so drawing on his warrior’s resolve he pushed away desire, as best he could.

“Go on.”

“So now, I guess we’ll both be pain free. The lyrium is attuned with our physical bodies. We can also join powers, though I can’t quite make heads or tales of what that exactly means,” Hawke motioned to the books, “that’s what I was reading when you woke.” 

Fenris lifted a brow. “I’m not seeing the downside.”

“Give me your hand.” Hers shook as she held it out to him.

Fenris was afraid, really afraid, but he did as she asked. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry, but there’s no other way to show you how fucked up this is.” She shifted some of the books, then lifted the sheets, until she unearthed a small paring knife. “It'll sting, but I’ll heal you.” Without further preamble she slashed a shallow cut across her palm.

“What in the Void!” Fenris jerked away from her and looked down at the wound bisecting his flesh.

“Fenris.” Her voice was soft.

His face set in an angry scowl, Fenris looked up and choked as first shock, then rage surged through him. “No.”

“Anything that happens to my physical body is mirrored on yours. Pain included.” Green fire danced across her palm and Fenris watched the wounds heal on both their hands.

“An effective measure of control, you’d never allow another to suffer if you could stop it.” Pressing his unmarred skin to his chest, Fenris wished he could call his ex-master back from the Void and kill him again, slowly and excruciatingly. 

“Especially not you. Even if he wiped your mind, he wouldn’t have been able to stop me from caring. No matter how many memories he took away.”

“What of mine?”

“You can feel what I feel, my emotions. Other than that, I don’t know, but Justice said he would try to find an answer for me. I’ll ask Anders too, if or when we ever get back to Kirkwall. I’m pretty sure there’s more in the journals, too, because even though harm to me harms you, I can’t imagine your old master had only one plan. No, I’m pretty sure there’s something else.”

“Still, it seems we are both equally affected.”

Micah shook her head. “I can control what you feel. I can block your connection to me, outside of being in extreme distress or duress, but there’s nothing either of us can do about my link to you. Danarius built the spell into my brands, not yours. So your manifestation is outside the spell, even though its a direct result of the damned thing. A more in-depth explanation I can't give yet because I don't understand myself.”

Fenris reached for her, but she pulled away. “Micah, come here.”

“Don’t. I just,” she flashed him a self-deprecating grin, but there was no mirth in her eyes. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but it’s all turned to shit, really. I’ve bound you, through magic, and there’s nothing I can do to reverse it. It’s like, fuck, it’s –“

“Stop.” Fenris’ chest throbbed. He leaned forward, pushing her scrabbling hands out of his way, and took Hawke by the hips, pulling her from the end of the bed and into his embrace. “I… I don’t know what to think about this, how to react. But I do know that we will find a way through it. I may not know all the,” he swallowed hard and pulled her tighter to him, reveling in the weight of her against his body, the smell of her skin, “things I feel, but I will kill anyone who tries to take you from me.”

Micah made a choked sound, part cry part laugh. “Oh, Fenris. Why does everything have to be so damn complicated between us?”

“Perhaps it doesn’t have to be. In this moment, set everything else aside and feel me. I am here, I am solid, and I’m not leaving.”

She turned her face into his throat and he felt her lips moving against his skin, petal soft and warm. He pressed his cheek to her head, humming softly, and felt warmth and giddiness burst from beneath the changed mark on his chest. The sensation spread through the veins of lyrium until his whole body felt light and free. Fenris chuckled as his head began to spin, lightheaded from the _happiness_ coursing through him. Delight and something stronger, bottomless, an emotion more potent, surged deep into his core, hotter, bolder, but also more pure, true.

He laughed, really laughed and fell to the side, taking Hawke with him. “It is you.”

She blushed softly. “I thought you might - I can stop.”

Looking down into those eyes, Fenris felt her try to pull back. “Don’t. It, you, feel so good. Don’t hide it from me.” He shifted above her then settled himself between her legs, his chest brand semi-aligned with the sigil at her navel. His position brought his mouth into perfect distance from her beaded nipples. He took advantage.

When his tongue touched her body, desire took over and Fenris had to breathe slowly and focus not to be washed away beneath the onslaught. Feeling her, knowing how his every stroke, caress, built inside Micah was heady. Her need enhanced his passions, made him want to draw out every moment just to _feel_.

He slid up her body, tracing lyrium with his mouth, from the tip of her breast, over her clavicle, up her throat. Hawke’s arms came around him, her fingers burying themselves in his hair, as he tasted her skin as he’d wanted to before. The flavor of her skin was ozone and salt, but sweet and soft, the ore pulsing beneath her skin enhancing the spice, making his mouth water to delve into the secret place only he had ever been.

Over the curve of her jaw, toward her small, human ear, Fenris pushed himself onto his palms, lifting all but the crux of his body from her, as he drew a damp line to his destination. Teeth took hold, and Micah squirmed beneath him, arching her neck into his caress, moaning softly. A strong pulse of need from her caused his hips to surge, pulling a groan from him. _Maker, she will be the death of me._ In that moment, Fenris was perfectly fine with the idea.

He kissed and nibbled down the strong column of her throat, pausing when he reached the point where neck met shoulder. Here, Fenris opened his mouth over her skin, and pressed his teeth against her, sucking softly at first, then harder when she tightened her hands in his hair and wrapped her thighs around his hips, pulling him closer, writhing, her body clear in its demand.

Pulling away, his movement garnering a whimper from the woman clutching him tightly, Fenris admired the deep, red bruise he’d left. A mark of choice, _his_ mark. Satisfaction coursed through him and he moved to her mouth, pressing, pushing, slipping his tongue between her lips, coaxing hers to follow. He held himself on one hand, curling the other around the back of her neck, lifting her head to his, mouth opened wider as he tried to taste her deeper.

Not ambrosia, nor an excellent year of Aggregio, nothing compared and with reluctance, Fenris drew away, sucking her bottom lip, giving it a sharp nip, before he laid her down and reversed course, trailing down once more to her breasts. Micah cried out when he took first one, then the other, of her coral nipples into his mouth, suckling hard, swirling his tongue over the tight buttons of flesh before applying teeth, gently at first, then harder, firmer, more sharply as Micah began to beg him for more, her words harsh with rising urgency. 

Using one hand, he pulled and plucked the nipple his mouth wasn’t worshipping, a dark need in him rejoicing as he realized Micah was undone by the edge of pain. She keened when he pressed the flat edges of his nails into the sensitive skin, her hips thrashing against him, the slick of her desire making the base of his cock and balls wet.

He slid backwards, away from temptation, pressing his aching body against the cool sheets of the bed and released her breast from his mouth, leaving open mouthed kisses over her ribs, belly, pausing to dip the tip of his tongue in the well of her navel, before starting a line of brief, stinging nips to first one hip, then back to the other.

She was shaking when Fenris settled his shoulders between her thighs, a constant mantra of ‘pleases’ and ‘Fenris, Maker, Fenris’ falling unbidden from her lips. With a light touch, he opened her to his gaze, taking in every soft inch of slippery, swollen flesh. Her labia was deep pink, not as dark as her nipples, but so beautiful against the pale cream of her skin. They were unfurled and the spot at the apex of her sex, the tiny pearl where so much of a woman’s pleasure was born, was revealed in the depth of her passion.

He rubbed one fingertip over her clitoris and her thighs seized against his shoulders, her pelvis tilting up, seeking a firmer touch, more friction. Fenris’ breath was ragged as he pressed against her again and a jolt of pure want poured from Hawke into him. He was dizzied by it, but when he felt the sensation recede unnaturally fast, he shifted closer, replacing his finger with his mouth.

“Fenris!” She pulsed beneath him and he repeated the motion, flicking her clit with the firmed end of his tongue, fingers tracing the lips of her sex, drawing her moisture over her skin, teasing the entrance with deft strokes as her pleasure grew by leaps and bounds.

He lost himself in her, in the feeling of her, as his mouth sought out every drop of arousal, every twist or thrust of fingers and tongue that made Hawke scream, bury her hands in his hair and beg him to never stop. And Fenris was there, with her, in both body and emotion, driving himself toward the peak as surely as he took Micah there. 

Her taste, tinged with the tang of his own release, almost took him over the brink. Salty and hot, like earth and sky, he wanted to brand her flavor into his skin, wanted never to stop plunging his fingers and tongue into her receptive body. He craved the tiny pulsations of her clit against his lips, the disorganized clench of her intimate flesh against his touch.

She was close, he felt it, a fiery ball of impending cataclysm and driven by a need to watch her come apart, to know it was he who did it, Fenris began to plunge, hard and fast, with his fingers, as he pressed his teeth carefully around the base of her clit, sealing his lips about the tiny nerve bundle to suck hard the flesh.

Micah’s hands tore at his hair, the sharp licks of pain the only thing that kept Fenris from following her into orgasm as her body tightened, her breath suspended, before rapture stole her from him. Fenris pushed hard, deep, and held still, lifting his gaze to watch the line of her body as she came for a moment before her release pounded through him. The brand on his chest almost burned as ecstasy streamed outward from it. Unable to watch and not give in, he slammed his eyes closed, breathing the smell of her pleasure, tongue lapping the moisture flowing around his fingers.

 _Maker_ , Fenris had never felt anything so wondrously amazing in his life. His cock jerked, precome flowing freely, and he struggled not to thrust into the mattress to relieve the pressure between his thighs. It would be easy, one push, maybe two and he’d come, but he stilled the movement of his hips as the waves emanating from her slowed.

She shuddered one last time, entire body quivering, and that was when he moved. Crawling up her body, he pulled her thigh over his hip with one hand and guided his cock inside with the other.

“Fenris, Fenris!” 

She rippled around him, so unbelievable hot and wet from her orgasm, the muscles of her sex still clenching erratically as aftershocks moved through her.

“Micah.” He swiveled his hips and closed his eyes. She was perfection, as if made for him alone. 

She drew her legs up and her hands down. He hissed as her nails dug into his buttocks, the sharp pain only adding to his hunger, heightening the pleasure. Dropping his chin, he looked at her face as he took her, plunging in, sliding back, filling her and withdrawing to the beat of his heart. The sounds of their bodies meeting ratcheted up the urgency building in Fenris. How could a woman be so wet and so tight at the same time?

“Maker, Fenris, I’m going to-“ He watched her white teeth take hold of her bottom lip. Her legs slipped from him, feet planted against the bed as she arched beneath him.

He had to taste her again. He slammed into her, cock pounding against the tight grasp of her body, and took her mouth with his. She raked her nails up his back, harsh scraping motions and cried out into his kiss and Fenris broke apart. He dropped his chest to hers, both hands going beneath her, fingers digging into her ass as the primal rhythm of wild mating took over. He held her still and hammered into her, short, rapid strokes that only stilled when the first rush of come erupted from his cock to find its home deep inside Micah’s receptive heat.

His orgasm was different from hers, but no less breathtaking, no less world shattering. He bit her lip, tasted her blood, but couldn’t stop the animalistic fervor shaking every muscle in his body as his testicles contracted and his cock pulsed. Finally, needing breath, he pulled away from her mouth and rolled them to the side, keeping his body firmly tied to hers, burying his face in her neck as two more ejaculations jerked his hips.

Hawke was right, everything between them was complicated, but as Fenris learned a long time ago, so was a freeman’s life. Bound as intimately as two people could ever hope to be, he thought about what kind of man he’d be without those complications, without Micah. She was his, only his, and by the gods of old, the Maker, the Creators, he was hers. Everything else could be dealt with or ignored because Fenris never wanted to know a reality where living was uncomplicated. He wanted a future by her side. 

 

Chapter Three

Micah stirred but didn’t want to open her eyes. So much had happened; so many things had changed in such a short time. She felt lost and unsure and really didn’t want to face any of it just yet. Instead, she listened to the beat of Fenris’ heart beneath her ear and let her mind drift to more pleasant thoughts.

Pleasant wasn’t a very good description though, if she were honest. Being with the elf was beyond everything she’d ever hoped, fantasized, and prayed for. He was strength and power and all-consuming. She’d loved him before, so much it hurt to even be near him, but now, love wasn’t even close to what she felt. Her heart was torn in two and made whole, over and over, with each pulse of her blood. 

Careful to keep his end of their connection silent, she breathed softly as tears pooled beneath her closed lids. She never wanted this, never wanted him trapped with magic into being with her. She bit her lip and thought about what she hadn’t told Fenris about the insane spell Danarius had burned into her skin, knowledge she’d discovered after their last round of bed sport.

She needed him, physically needed Fenris, to survive. Because she was a mage, because of the tiny piece of her spirit self now tied to him, if they were separated for any real length of time, or even by great distance, she would slowly begin to die. Micah would grow weak, exhausted, her body drained bit by agonizing bit, until there was nothing left. Danarius’ spell _did_ have a secondary effect. 

If Hawke grew too strong, the magister would only have to keep her from the elf, maybe a few hours, maybe a day, perhaps weeks Micah didn’t know, until she was too weak to fight him. Then he could collar her, effectively caging her magic. Between the option of making Fenris suffer her every punishment and tying her very existence to the elf’s nearness, Danarius would have left Micah little option for rebellious behavior. It explained why his touch had pushed away the pain before they’d ever slept together, a partial activation of the spell.

It also meant she could never tell Fenris the truth. No matter what was between them now, she wouldn’t, couldn’t burden him with this revelation. To have his freedom once more restricted, his choices taken away, Hawke was sure it would destroy the tiny flower of _more_ blooming in him for her.

With utmost care, she rolled from his embrace and slipped out of bed. They’d spent most of the night wrapped around each other and Hawke’s body, satisfied and well-loved, was a bit sore nonetheless. Fenris wasn’t a passive lover, his intensity matched only by his drive to make her scream as often as possible. She might have waited long past the norm to take a lover, but Micah didn’t regret it for one minute.

Pulling a soft robe from the hook in the bathing room, she slipped it on, sighing at the total lack of pain. Quietly, she padded to the door and left the room, headed for the kitchens first, to find Mikla afterward.

“Good morning, Accipiter.” Alana dipped into a brief curtsy.

“Alana. How long have you been waiting?”

“Not long. Dawn broke only an hour past. I didn’t want to disturb you. This last day has been… taxing for us all.”

Micah smirked. “It has at that. If you’d be so kind to have a bath made, I’m going to the kitchen and then to speak with Mikla.”

“Of course, Accipiter. What of the Wolf? I don’t want to presume-“

The door opened and a thoroughly disheveled Fenris stood in the jamb, shirtless, leggings barely laced. He shook his bangs from his face and gave Alana the most brilliant smile Micah had ever seen. “The Wolf would enjoy a bath as well. Thank you, Alana.”

 _Holy Andraste, I think I might melt into a puddle at his feet. He is divinely handsome like this._ The other woman looked as dumbstruck as Hawke felt, but she recovered quickly. “Of course.” Eyes dancing with merriment, Alana turned to complete her task with a grin on her lips.

Fenris took Micah’s wrist and pulled her to him, looping her hand around his neck before crossing his arms over her back, bringing their bodies flush. “And where were you going?” His green eyes searched hers, mischief dancing there, that smile still lifting his lips.

Hawke stuttered. She was at a loss, had no idea how to even speak then. His face looked so much younger, without the permanent scowl etched onto his features. In fact, Fenris seemed, well to be honest, he seemed to be delightfully happy.

“Fenris? Are you- are you alright?”

He hugged her tight and dropped a kiss to her lips, lingering just long enough for her to melt into him before he pulled back. He looked down at her and laughed, bussed her lips once more, still chuckling, before dropping one hand to her bottom and giving her a swift, stinging smack. Nothing harsh or painful, no it was an utterly playful action.

“Fenris!” Hawke choked on a laugh and pulled away from him, but he didn’t let her go far, grabbing her hand and lacing their fingers together.

“Come on, Hawke. Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

The walked, hand in hand, arms pressed close, to the kitchens and Micah had to stop herself from gawking at Fenris like the besotted fool she was. Fenris, her Fenris, was smiling, walking around bare-chested, teasing her in full view of other people. She didn’t know whether to be over the moons or terrified. Sex could definitely turn ones mood around, but this, this was so far beyond that Hawke had no idea what was going on.

They settled at the small table in the scullery kitchen, both of them offering thanks to the cook when she brought them plates loaded with eggs and meat and fruit. Fenris released her hand then, to pick up his fork and dig in to the bounty before him.

Micah too began eating, but slower, her gaze riveted on the elf as he ate. It looked as if he’d never really tasted food before, the way his eyes slipped closed, the soft sounds of approval he made as a slice of orange burst over his tongue, or his teeth broke into the delicate casing of a thick link of sausage.

Soon enough, though, he realized she was staring and the tips of his ears turned a faint pink. “You’re ogling, Hawke.”

“I’m sorry, I just… Fenris, really, are you alright? I’ve never, you’re always, shit forget it.” Dropping her gaze to her plate, Micah dug in. She shoveled eggs and thick, warm, crusty bread between her lips to stop her tongue from talking.

He gave a soft chortle. “Hawke.”

She kept her focus on her food. She felt bad for being so confounded by the lightness of his mood, but really, what did the elf expect?

The gentle press of fingers beneath her chin lifted her face. She swallowed the bits of apple in her mouth, surprised they made it past the thickness in her throat.

“Micah, I’m happy. It’s too hard to frown right now.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip, smiling broadly, before withdrawing. 

“You have dimples.” She knew she sounded awed, but apparently that only made Fenris more pleased.

“Do I?” The smile changed into a smirk as his head tilted down and his snow-white bangs fell across his eyes.

Micah blushed, she actually blushed at his obvious flirtation. “By the Maker, Fenris, who knew you were so mind-bogglingly charming? I think I’ll just slide off the chair and straight into the floor.”

This drew another deep laugh from the man across from her, and Hawke joined him, feeling both more relaxed and terribly aware at the same time.

The meal passed quickly after that, her letting loose her tension, allowing her own delirious pleasure free as they ate. The plates were cleared and coffee served, which they both took with a bit of honey and a dash of cream, but they continued to sit, talking softly, fingers brushing against each other, smiling and laughing as Micah got to know Fenris, and he her, in a way neither ever thought would happen.

“It’s true.” She blew across the top of her third cup of coffee. “’I shit you not, Rivaini. It was this big!’” Micah tried to mimic Varric’s scruffy baritone and failed miserably. “I thought Carver was going to choke to death on his tongue. And Bela, she took full advantage. My poor brother, he was gagging for it by the time we got back to Gamlen’s. I took pity on him, forced Mother and Uncle to come to the market with me so the boy could get himself under control.”

“What a loving sister you are.” Fenris set his cup down. “Though are you certain they were really talking about blades?”

She giggled and shook her head. “I doubt it. Still, totally worth the blushing I did. Damn, I miss those bastards.”

Fenris took her hand in his. “I, as well. Soon enough, though, we will be able to return to Kirkwall, where I’m sure you’ll set about stirring up more trouble as quickly as possible.”

“Flatterer.” She smirked at him, but didn’t deny the truth. So long as she survived Tevinter, there was something of utmost importance she had to deal with in the City of Chains.

“I will be with you, gladly at your side.”

She pursed her lips. “Don’t say that, Fenris. I doubt very much you’ll want to be involved.”

He frowned, but even this was less severe than she’d ever known it to be. “I don’t care if you intend to string the Knight-Commander up by her heels and set every psychotic mage in the Gallows free. I’ve learned much over these last months, not the least of which is my own bigotry blinded me to truths I didn’t want to see, a reality I tried to repudiate. I refuse to handicap myself that way again.”

She searched his eyes, saw the honesty in them and nodded her head. “Alright, so long as it’s your choice.”

The door opened and she turned to see Mikla there. “Accipiter, Fenris. I’m glad I found you.”

“What is it? Is Remiel here?”

“No, Magister. Perhaps worse than that, or better, I’ve no way of knowing.”

“Spit it out, Mikla. What’s happened?”

“The Archon, he’s coming here, in the next hour. He says there is a matter of state he must discuss with you.”

“What?”

Mikla nodded and passed a sheaf of parchment to Micah. She took the page and read it twice to be certain the words she saw weren’t some trick of the mind. “According to this, it’s about the Qunari.” She smacked the back of her hand against her thigh. “What the hell does he think I can do about the Qunari? I know less about them than he does.”

“You did kill their leader.” Fenris cupped his chin in his hand.

“The leader of their military and I’m sure by now, they’ve replaced him. I don’t believe the Archon.”

“Good.”

Micah looked at the missive once more before burning it with a flash of fire, letting the blackened ash flutter to the floor. “Mikla, tell Henley to meet me in the training yard. If the Archon is coming here, Remiel won’t be able to pass up the opportunity. He’ll attack.”

“That’s madness! The Archon won’t come without men.” Fenris jolted from his seat.

“He says to show his intent is honest, he’s only coming with a half dozen men.” Mikla responded before Micah could.

Fenris looked at her and she gave a quick nod. “Besides, we both know the Black Templars are soldiers. They long ago stopped learning the arts of their position. Only my men can truly act as Templars here.” She worried her lower lip.

The Fenris before her, pacing, arms crossed tightly over his chest, this was the elf Micah knew so very, very well.

“Go, Mikla. Fenris and I will meet the lieutenant shortly.”

She made to leave the kitchen, when the touch of warm skin stopped her. Turning her head, she looked at Fenris.

He interlocked their fingers and moved to her side, using his free hand to cup her jaw. She pressed her cheek against his palm, bringing her own hand to curve around his side. 

“Whatever is coming, I will be by your side. I want more mornings like this, Micah. A lot more.” Fenris dipped his head, took her lips with his, passion and warmth and desire in his every movement. 

She hummed her approval and felt his lips twitch against hers. Drawing back, her gaze locked with his and calm stole through her. Together, she felt the truth of it in her core, nothing would stop she and Fenris from making sure they had a future beyond today.

* * *

“We’ll meet the Archon on the lawn. I’ve had Alana set up a long table, far enough from the courtyard that the staff should be safe inside the house. I’ll ward the gates, just in case. Henley is preparing the men. They’ll be fully armed and armored and ready for an attack. He was ashamed of the way things played out the last time we had visitors.”

“I understand his regret, but the emissary called demons so quickly, even Silence would not have protected them.”

“I explained the same. Not to mention that only Henley and one other man there were even skilled enough to use that tactic and the emissary was likely too far from them for Silence to have affected him at all. Either way, this time, his men are prepared. They’ll stay close and at the first sign of trouble, Henley himself with call for Silence.”

“I see you chose the red. Appropriate.”

Micah smiled at her reflection. “For the expense, I don’t think I’ve ever had better armor than this.” Micah looked at herself in the mirror, trying to keep her eyes off the freshly washed and completely naked body of Fenris as he moved around the room behind her.

“Indeed. Perhaps I should look at procuring a new set or two as well. In blue or maybe green?” He cast a smile her direction as he sat on the bed, unfolding his cleaned leggings and thrusting his feet into the material.

“Hmm, I don’t know. You do look ravishing in black.” She waggled her brows and he chuckled.

“But the green would accentuate my eyes.”

She laughed and shook her head. “Yes, of course, because you need anything at all to make you more attractive.”

“Honestly, until I came to Kirkwall, I didn’t think I was attractive, my body at least, certainly not my face. I believe I told you once my appearance intimidated and frightened everyone I met when I was Danarius’ slave. None ever called me ‘handsome’.”

“And I believe my reply to that was I couldn’t imagine what they found lacking. After which, if I recall correctly, I blushed crimson and wished to cut out my tongue, I was so embarrassed.”

Fenris gave a rasping snort. “You never flirted with me again. It got to the point I thought I’d perhaps imagined the entire conversation. Maker, I wasted so much time trapped in hate. Why? Why couldn’t I have just opened my eyes a bit wider?” He sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. 

Micah was drawn to his side, hands reaching for his chest piece. She helped him slip into it, tightening buckles and clasps. When his armor was in place and secure, she tucked her fingers around the edge at neck and tugged him toward her.

“The past is set, Fenris. We can’t go back. But the future we can make for ourselves. I forgave your transgressions years ago, the moment I realized I loved you. Maybe if you allow yourself to love you too, to see yourself as I see you, then there will be no need for regret.” She stopped blocking her emotions and let all the joy, all the love she felt for him pour through their connection.

Fenris looked up at her, his hand going to his chest unconsciously. 

“You are strong and brave, loyal and honest. No one is perfect, Fenris, and yes you have faults. You’re quick to anger, quick to judge, and sometimes very inflexible, actually intractable, in your opinions. But you’re also brilliant and clever, swift to correct yourself when you realize you’re wrong. You’re a good man, one of the very best I’ve ever had the pleasure to call friend.”

His eyes shone and he took her hands in his. “You humble me.”

She grinned and quickly took his lips with hers, a soft chaste kiss. “Don’t get maudlin on me now, Fenris. Come on, we’ve an Archon to greet.”

He rose from the bed and took up his sword, strapping it to his back as if it weighed nothing. A flash of color caught her eye and she grabbed his right gauntlet. Wrapped around the wrist was a long piece of blood-red leather. “Is that my hair band?”

“It is.” His gaze bore into hers and Micah didn’t know what to say. “Until I can find something more appropriate, I choose to wear it, as a sign of your favor and my allegiance.”

She blinked quickly, rubbing her fingers over the supple material. “Damn it, Fenris. Let’s go before I get overemotional.” Hawke released him, checking the straps on her dagger-staffs before striding out of the room.

 

Chapter Four

Mikla and Alana waited for them in the massive entry hall. “The Archon has arrived, Magister.” The steward looked like he might be ill.

“Mikla, calm down. You know what to do. It will work out. Alana, the tunnels are clear?”

“Yes, Accipiter. I sent men down to make sure this morning.”

“And the boats?”

“Waiting in the harbor, captained by men freed and loyal to you.”

“Alright then, both of you, go, get safe. Henley’s men will accompany Fenris and I. Mikla, if anything should happen, send a message to the Warden-Commander. She’ll know what to do and she’s a powerful ally.”

“Accipiter, I- I-“

Hawke stepped forward and pulled the boy tight to her. “I love you too, Mikla. Everything will be fine.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling away and turning into the embrace of her other friend.

“You show them not to fuck with us anymore, Hawke.” Alana pulled back, a bright smile on her lips despite the shadows in her eyes.

Micah grinned, pleased with both the sentiment and the use of her true name. “Yes, ma’am.”

She waited while Fenris and Mikla said their own goodbyes, both men’s eyes wet with emotion. She took her elf’s hand as he stepped away from the young man and they stood together until the servants were gone from sight.

“Are you ready?” Fenris spoke against her head.

She snorted. “Not hardly, but then that seems to be what works best for me.”

He chuckled. “True enough.”

They made their way from the house, Henley and his men falling in behind Micah as they left the stone patio of a courtyard, pausing only so Micah could set several wards in place at the gates, before traveling further onto the lawn.

She’d never paid much attention to the property she’d inherited from Danarius, but looking at acres upon acres of green, plush grass rolling before her, neatly trimmed, she could only shake her head at the opulence of the Imperium. Not even the gardens at the Royal Palace in Denerim could boast so much open space, let alone any estate in Kirkwall’s Hightown. 

She was thankful, though, since the vastness before them could easily host a full scale battle. Not that Micah thought she’d need it today, but it was good to know if necessary, an army could camp here without putting the house proper in direct jeopardy.

Fenris’ hand tightened around her as they approached the meeting place, where the Archon was already seated. He rose, his men coming to attention behind him, when Hawke stopped a few short feet from the table.

“Magister Accipiter, I thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”

Micah inclined her head. “I must say, it seems unwise for you to visit now, but you are the Archon.”

“Indeed. You received my letter?” He motioned for her to sit, which she did only after he returned to his chair.

Fenris remained standing, his hands on the back of her seat. “I did, though what help I could be, I’m certain I don’t know. The Qunari are not an easy people to understand.”

“I believe you may know than you think. I recently came into information regarding an incident involving you, a Tal-Vashoth rebel, and an elf by the name of Tallis.”

She lifted a brow. “That happened years ago. I don’t know where Tallis or her scroll is now, likely in Par Vollen.”

“Perhaps, but the information the Salit was attempting to sell to Orlais is not what I’m interested in.”

“Then what is?” Micah looked out at the tree line. Something lurked there, she felt it.

“We did not realize your status among the Qunari was _basalit-an_.”

Micah wracked her brain, sure Danarius had known that. “How does that change things?”

“If there were anyone the Imperium might be able to send to Seheron to attempt to cease the war there, it would be a ‘respected thing’. I realize senate convenes soon, but I would have you in Seheron. I will personally absolve you of your senatorial duties for however long it takes for you to attempt to resolve the conflict.”

“I mean no disrespect, Archon, but I doubt even I could sway the Qunari from their position.”

“Accipiter.” Fenris’ voice cut her short and she rose from the chair. 

“By the Maker, you magisters are nothing if not predictable.” She glared at the Archon. “This discussion is tabled until I deal with Remiel. I’m not the only target, here, so I’d suggest you withdraw, quickly.”

The look on the pale, dark-haired man’s face was one of pure confusion. “You want me to flee?”

She motioned to Henley, who directed his men with subtle hand movements, before answering the Imperial leader. “Look, I get that you people really do not understand me, so let me try to be clear, yet again. I have no desire to rule the Imperium. None. I have enough to do keeping track of eleven Maker-be-damned households right now. And I have other responsibilities that have nothing to do with Tevinter at all. I doubt being Archon would go over all that well if I tried to travel back to the Free Marches, let alone the rest of Thedas.”

“So you would protect my retreat, then?”

“That’s what the fuck I said, isn’t it? I don’t like you, I don’t trust you, and I figure you’ll pull some bullshit soon enough, but for now, better the devil I know than the one I don’t. And I guarantee if Remiel kills you, I’ll be forced to remove him from the throne, which I’ve just said I don’t want at all.”

“They come.” Fenris stepped away from her and drew his sword, body phasing, blue-white light washing away the shadows beneath him.

“Fuck, too late. You!” She pointed to the Archon’s men. “Protect him. Henley, send a couple of your men here to provide aid to the Imperial Lord’s men.”

Her lieutenant called out orders and Micah took a deep breath as she watched a line of golems break through the trees. Didn’t it just figure, Remiel would have golems. She didn’t move, didn’t activate her brands, didn’t even call her magic. Hawke watched, assessed the board and waited for Remiel to make the first move.

He didn’t keep her in suspense long, the first volley of arrows, accompanied with a massive firestorm. Micah wasn’t impressed, calling up an arcane shield to protect her and those standing with her. As armored men began to flood the field, Hawke sent out one after another glyphs of paralysis, followed by tempest, then blizzard, slowing more than three quarters of Remiel’s troops, allowing Henley and his people to carefully return fire, cutting down bodies with precision.

“There!” Fenris drew her attention to a group of mages wielding control rods. Micah responded with Fist of the Maker, throwing their bodies into the air, slamming them back to the earth. Rods went flying and golems stopped moving.

“Send a man for those, quickly!” Using Edge of the Abyss, she kept the mages trapped against the grass as one of her knights raced to them, collecting the rods, stomping the faces of any mages that tried to stop him. She watched an echo of sound ripple as her knight returned and glanced at Henley. The man nodded with a grim smile. 

There was a cry from the Archon and Micah whirled to see what was happening. He’d called Rock Armor and was rapidly deflecting spell after spell being lobbed at him from farther away. Hawke couldn’t see the caster, but she ran, growling under her breath, and threw herself in front of Nemoran. “Fall back, damn it!” 

Her shield fractured under the heavy barrage and she heard him mutter something under his breath a moment before she felt the vile touch of blood magic. Spinning to face him, she roared her fury. “No! You will _not_ use forbidden magic. If you can’t fight without it, then I suggest you run and hide because if I feel that again, I will have you Silenced!”

Distracted by his stupidity, Micah left her back unguarded and barely managed to turn in time to prevent taking a fireball to the kidneys. She threw herself to the ground and returned a bolt of chain lightning and then Fenris was there, standing over her, blinding in his power. 

“You’ll never win without the forbidden arts. Remiel will slaughter you.”

“I’d rather not kill her.” The voice was close and Fenris pivoted to face it, massive blade slicing through the air with a shrill scream of speed, but Remiel slammed the elf with a mind blast, sending the ex-slave ass over elbows across the table.

She barely registered his twisted face, more demon than man, as his hand closed around her throat and he used a Dispel to temporarily stifle Hawke’s magic. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t call out to Henley, indeed by the sounds coming from behind her she wouldn’t have chosen to distract him anyway. Instead, she phased from Remiel’s hold and drew a dagger.

“Clever girl, but I’ll have you yet.” 

“Never!” Fenris leapt at them, his massive sword cutting through the air.

Remiel jumped back, the hem of his robe caught under the blade’s edge as it slammed into the ground. He responded with Stone Fist, and Fenris was once more thrown from Micah.

“Your slave really needs to learn his place.”

"Fenris is no slave!" She flamed, lyrium pulsing with power. Enough was enough. Hawke had a brief thought that Varric would find the battles conclusion sorely lacking and smiled to herself before she phased into Remiel, shifting her Fade form through his protections, through his power, until she found the silent place only she could inhabit.

And with glee, she made herself corporeal, flinging her arms wide as she exploded outward in a shower of magister. His demon sprang free, and wearing the splintered bits of its previous host, Micah took hold of the thing and struggled to tear it apart. 

“Let me help.” Fenris’ voice came at her ear as his arms wound around her body, one at her waist the other across her chest. The veins she could see glowed and his form faded to blue silhouette. Feeling him, with her, around her, Micah let her own brands unite with his, and was riveted in place as their combined power burned through her body and into the demon, incinerating it to ash with a flare of pure white energy.

Her knees went out and she fell hard against Fenris as he became solid again. Her vision was blurry and there was a terribly clanging in her skull. Micah lifted her hands to grip his arms, thankful for his strength.

“I have you.” Slowly he turned them to face the fight. 

Remiel’s men were crazed, charging at anything near them, friend or foe. They’d been enthralled and with their magister dead, they became savage, bloodthirsty things. Henley’s men fell back toward Micah and Fenris.

“Go, go to them. There’s nothing we can do for those men but give them release.” Fenris pressed a kiss to her temple and stepped away, retrieving his sword and plunging into the bodies. 

She watched in awe of his grace, the economy of motion as he flowed through their enemies, cutting them down in broad strokes. He looked like a dancer, spinning and dashing, left and right, the steps accentuated by a flash of his brands when he tore a heart from a chest or pulsed with spirit energy. Fenris moved with lethal intent, every swing sure, each blow certain.

“I can see why Danarius wanted him back so badly. He is truly magnificent.”

Her head swung toward Nemoran. “Fenris is mine, Archon. You cannot have him.”

Darkness washed over his face, but the magister dipped his head in ascent. “As you will Magister Accipiter, so mote it be.” He pulsed with tightly held power.

Suddenly, Micah was very tired and though it had nothing to do with Nemoran or his dark omnipotence, neither did it help. Hawke was no fool, it would take every tactical advantage she could hope to bring to bear were the Archon to actually attack her. Even then, she held little hope she'd survive the encounter. Unlike the others she'd faced, Nemoran held sway over power the likes of which she'd felt only once before and that had been when Flemeth swooped in to save her and her family from the darkspawn horde. Honestly, the Archon had nothing on the Witch of the Wilds, but still his dominion over magic was superior to her own.

With a sigh, Hawke looked down and fought the strong urge to purge her stomach as the bits and pieces of Remiel she wore like a shroud came into focus. She shook her head, yet another magister destroyed and another entire estate under her responsibility. Looking hard at the Archon, Hawke chose her next words carefully. “I trust, now that you’ve seen a tiny smattering of what I can do, this will be the last time I have to defend what is mine.”

Nemoran cocked his head. “Did you strip the magic from Remiel’s emissary?”

She felt her body go tight, her eyes harden. “I did.”

Fear lit in the cold, black depths of his eyes, quelled quickly, but not so soon Micah missed its presence. “I find myself in a unique position, Accipiter. You protected me, when you could have left me to Remiel’s machinations. In fact, you put yourself between his attack and my physical self. Yet the power you wield is terrible in its glory and in its breadth. I am indebted to you even though you are the greatest threat to not only me, but the Imperium itself.”

“If she wanted your throne, she would have it by now.” Fenris strode toward them, sword sheathed, Lieutenant Henley close on his heels.

“For once, I do not think that a magister’s boast. Will you act as Imperial Emissary to the Qun?”

Micah ground her teeth and cursed beneath her breath. “Yes, Archon.”

“Will you take the position of First Enchanter of the Black Spire?”

“Do you truly want me there, Nemoran? Wasn’t that simply a ruse to force Remiel’s hand?”

His brow arched at her use of his familiar name, but he didn’t remark on it. “No. Difficult as it may be for you to believe, while choosing you was advantageous, the offer was sincere.”

Micah looked at Fenris, hoping to convey her thoughts without speaking them. The elf looked at the First Magister critically. “What chains would you place on her if she agreed?”

The Archon looked surprised. “Smart man.”

“I am a product of your kind. Accipiter will suffer no burdens but those she chooses for herself. You would do well to remember all you have seen today, and before.”

Nemoran was quiet for several minutes. “Agreed. I will demand nothing more than your oath that you would refrain from preaching sedition in the Spire.”

“What about everything else, Archon? It will be difficult at best for me to lead your Circle, deal with the Qunari, and put down a psychotic Knight-Commander, as well as showing up to Senate meetings.”

“As I said before, I will recuse you from service to the Senate for as long you need, Accipiter. The First Enchanter is often absent from chambers and only attends when his vote is needed to settle some dispute.”

Micah didn’t like it. She didn’t want to be the First Maker-be-damned Enchanter of the blighted Tevinter Imperium. That way led to trouble, serious, deadly trouble. However, it would also afford her the opportunity to teach the mages of the Imperium the power of pure magic and not the tainted filth so many seemed to wield.

“I will not allow any forbidden arts under my leadership, Archon. Any mage I catch using blood magic will find themselves like Remiel’s emissary. This is not negotiable.”

“Use of those powers are illegal in the Imperium.”

Micah scoffed at him. “Yes, yes, of course. Still, I would hate to be misunderstood later, when I rip some poor mages magic from his soul and leave him nothing but a mindless slave.”

“You go too far, Accipiter.” He narrowed his eyes at Hawke.

“No. I don’t. Listen carefully to me. The Qunari are readying themselves to march, on the Imperium, by the Void likely on all of Thedas. Those were Arishok’s last words to me. I will do what I can to forestall it, perhaps as _basalit-an_ I might even be able to do more than that, but if Tevinter hopes to stand against the Qun, we need allies. Something you and all your magisters cannot hope to find, let alone claim if forbidden magic continues to be the rule of the land. I won’t impose my will in this on those outside the Spire, but the mages within, the apprentices and the enchanters will abide or they will wish they were dead.”

He cursed, lightning rolling over his body. Henley made ready to Silence Nemoran, but Micah held up her hand. She understood his fury, but she prayed he saw the truth of her words. There was a great bellow of wind and the Archon was once more still and controlled.

“Then so be it. I will make it clear you are above challenge, under threat of immediate death, by my hand or yours. Will that suffice?”

“It will. I won’t do this again. If there is a next time, I will simply hunt down the threat and kill him in his sleep.”

“As you will, so mote it be.” There was an echo of thunder, so loud Micah clapped her hands over her ears as the Archon conceded to her. 

He turned to go, then stopped. “Before I leave, there is one other thing. By the statutes of Nomaran, what was Magister Remiel’s is now yours.”

“ _Na via lerno victoria._ So mote it be.” She bowed to the Archon.

“Send word when you are able to come to the Spire. I will give you some time to handle your affairs. A month, Accipiter, no more.”

“I understand, Archon.” 

She watched him go, his guard flanking him as they made their way to a set of carriages on the road leading to her estate.

“That was bracing, Accipiter. Truly, you have balls the size of a Mabari.”

Micah laughed. “Those aren’t very large, Lieutenant.”

“I meant the full grown dog.”

She chortled as the men all laughed at that. “Well, I suppose we should head inside before someone else decides to attack me today.”

"What do we do with these, Magister?" A young blond man held up two handfuls of control rods.

"Blighted Void. Everyone take a rod."

The knight did as ordered, moving through the men, doling out the devices. When all the wands were dispersed, Micah and Fenris ended up with two to the rest of her men's one. Micah shot a look at her Wolf before squeezing the grips of her rods tightly and focusing all her attention at them. In between one blink and the next, she felt a brief shock of pain, followed immediately by the distinct, electric-crisp hum of power. Grinning at Fenris, she motioned to the men. 

"Hold them until you feel a sharp jab, like a bad shock. Then think 'follow'. They golems should do exactly that."

There were several sharply barked curses, but eventually, Hawke and her group made their way back to the estate, massive stone constructs trundling behind them.

"A hot bath and a good meal, that's what I need now."

“Oh, no, Hawke. You are going to the stables. There is no way in the Void you’re going into our chambers covered in the parts of a magister.” Fenris curled his lip, but Micah grinned at the humor in his pine-colored eyes.

Still, she huffed as if absolutely put out by his demand. “Fine, Fenris. The stable hands can muck me off.” 

Henley coughed as he glanced at Fenris. “I think you’d best leave that to the Wolf.”

“Indeed.”

Micah shook her head and kept walking. “Hah! We’ll see about that. Although, Fenris is very good at washing hair.”

The elf grunted and her men laughed as they made their way up the slight incline and back through the gates. It had been a long couple of days, but Micah felt good, the ever present unease she felt in this place, in this country, was fading. As Fenris moved to her side, his pace matching her own, she reached out for him, their hands twining together, and Hawke smiled.


End file.
